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Smith of Bear City 



Smith of Bear City 

and Other Frontier Sketches 

By 

George T. Buffum 

ILLUSTRATED WITH SIX PHOTOGRAVURES 

FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY 

F. T. WOOD 




New York 

The Grafton Press 

1906 



COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY GEORGE T. BUFFUM 



LVBRARYBt CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV g 1906 

^ CcpyrijrM Entry , 
OUSS A> XXc.No. 
CCfrY 



B. 



D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYSIOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 



TO 

George D. Cook 

A CHEERFUL COMPANION OF THE BORDER 

WHEN THERE WAS LITTLE 

OF GOOD CHEER 



Contents 



PAGE 

Prefatory Note xi 

Smith of Bear City 1 

The Death of Curly Bill 9 

Soapy Smith • 25 

The Cook from Texas 47 

Satan, the Burro 55 

Mother Corbett and her Table 71 

Gentle Annie 77 

The Queen of the Bull- Whackers 105 

The Evolution of Clay Allison 111 

A Trip through New Mexico 119 

Reminiscences of Frontier Hotels and their Pro- 
prietors 129 

The Man under the Bed 149 

The Story of "Lost Charlie Kean" 167 

A Race for Life 177 

Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 195 

Vehicles for the Living and Dead 205 

[ vii ] 



Contents 

FAGK 

A Night at Rincon 213 

Some Incidents of Early Days in New Albu- 
querque, New Mexico 221 

A Night Ride in the Deadwood Coach 229 

Seven Up and Life or Death 243 



List of Illustrations 

FACING PAGE 

"Don't be too hard on an Old Man who is 

HANDY WITH HIS Gun" 1 V' 

"These everlasting Hills that pierce the 

Heavens" 40 

Satan, the Burro 66 

The Curly Bill Band of Cow-Boys 82 

Lost Charlie Kean 172 

The Deadwood Coach 239 



Prefatory Note 



/ extend my greetings to the friends of fron- 
tier days, — the eardy pioneers of a great in- 
dustry, whose wealth is clean and untainted 
by the despoiling of their fellow-men. Before 
them was a vast unknown land where silence 
and desolation reigfied. High mountains had 
to be crossed, there were broad untilled plains 
and desert wastes to be traversed. Hostile In- 
dians disputed their rights in the territory and 
lay in ambush for them. But they were not 
deterred. They explored and dug deep and 
turned prospects into mines. The Far West 
awoke. The stage gave way to the railroad. Im- 
migt^ation rapidly followed. Cities were built 
and new states created. Then there came a 
call from over the sea. The Hark Continent 
became White Man's Africa. A karoo desert, 
where the wild beasts roamed and reared their 
lair, was changed into diamond fields, while on 
the arid veldt of the Rand were found reefs 
[xi ] 



Prefatory Note 
of gold. When I beheld what the American 
milling men had accomplished under the British 
and Boer flags, I gloried in my countrymen. 

We who were younger used to delight to 
call the late Senator Hearst " Uncle George."" 
One day, when congratulated upon his suc- 
cessful mine management and ownership, he re- 
plied in his kindly way to this effect: ''Thank 
God, no one has sitff'ered from what we have 
gained, for we have not striven to take what 
others had. No suicides, no ruined men, no 
impoverished women, no beggared children, 
have followed in our wake. We have exacted 
no tribute nor entered into any schemes for 
the submerging of our fellows while we floated 
high on the tide. Pure as the mountain air, 
bright as the midday sun, is the gold we hold, 
with mother earth the only loser.'" 

Similar sentiments have actuatedand largely 
controlled the lives of such pioneer mining men 
as J. B. Haggin, Senators John P. Jones 
and James G. Fair,^ John W. 3Iackay,^ 

* Deceased. 

[ xii ] 



Prefatory Note 

Marcus Daly,^ John Hays Hammond, Ham- 
ilton Smith,* Gardner Williams, Hennen and 
Sidney Jennings, E. T. Bayliss, J. A. Finch, 
A. B. Campbell, Patrick Clark, Thomas F. 
Walsh, Victor M. Clement,* the Williams 
brothers, Ben and Don Luis, E. B. Gage, 
F. M. Murphy, Dr. James Douglas, Samuel 
Newhouse, and many others who have been so 
largely instrumental in furnishing the basic 
wealth of the nations. For on the pixcious 
metals, and not on pajjer promises to pay, are 
built the solid foundations of the world's cur- 
rency on which mainly depend international 
credit and commerce. 



* Deceased. 




— /■lon/t^J»(fAa^>v/',iyn ,am, lMt!^,^(MftyM^^MyAan(vu ,^^Y^,/%<i^ iiun^ 



Smith of Bear City 



One winter evening many years ago some 
travellers were at Garrison Junction, Mon- 
tana, waiting for a belated train on the 
Northern Pacific Railroad. The conversation 
drifted to frontier life. We related incidents 
wherein we had been witnesses of those san- 
guinary conflicts when the gun and the knife 
had so frequently settled disputes without 
reference to any officer of the law. Then we 
spoke of those thrilling events which occurred 
when the vigilance committees were formed, 
and how they came to the rescue of the out- 
raged communities and succeeded in ridding 
the country of worthless desperadoes, whose 
departure to another world was of lasting 
benefit to those who were left behind. 

" Talking about nerve and courage under 

fire," said a gray-haired engineer of the Union 

Pacific Railroad, " I have seen the bravest of 

the brave, and his name was Smith of Bear 

[1 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

City. Perhaps you have never heard of Bear 
City. No man will ever walk its streets again, 
for like many of the cities which sprang up 
suddenly during the building of the Union 
Pacific Railroad, all that is left to show where 
it was are the tin cans and the graves of the 
men who 'died with their boots on.' 

"Whenever pay-day came around the 
shovellers, the track layers, and all employed 
in the construction of the railroad indulged 
in wild drunken carousals which seriously re- 
tarded the completion of the work. The go- 
vernment subsidy offered such an immense 
profit for every mile built that the two rival 
companies, building toward each other, were 
each most anxious to gain all possible track- 
age to the junction. As it was, they paralleled 
each other until the government designated 
Ogden for the junction of the Union Pacific 
and Central Pacific railroads. At the time of 
which I speak Bear City was the terminus 
of the Union Pacific and the base of supplies. 

"There was a large wholesale liquor mer- 
[2] 



Smith of Bear City 

chant in Bear City named Smith, who sup- 
pUed all the saloons and gambling-halls for 
miles around with liquor. Some of the men 
who were overseeing the building of the 
Union Pacific went to see Smith with refer- 
ence to the very serious delays in the construc- 
tion caused by the drunkenness of the em- 
ployees after the previous pay-day. An un- 
derstanding was reached by which Smith 
agreed to sell but a very limited amount of 
liquor to the saloon-keepers during the time 
that the workmen had no money and no credit; 
yet to avoid all suspicion of the drought which 
was in store for them, he was to announce 
his ability to abundantly supply all calls when 
the harvest of pay-day should come. 

"Pay-day came, and the anxious saloon- 
keepers could not buy a drop from the abun- 
dant supplies of Smith, for he had made good 
his word in having liquor on hand. That Smith 
had been bought by the monopoly that disre- 
garded the poor man's right to get drunk 
was evident to the most guileless of the la- 
[3] 



Smith of Bear City 

bourers, and their friends the saloon-keepers 
were severe in their denunciation of such a 
proceeding. 

" Finally an indignation meeting was called 
in which the most belligerent citizens advo- 
cated the seizure of the liquor by force as a 
public necessity in case Smith should longer 
persist in his refusal to sell to his former pa- 
trons. Before proceeding to desperate means, 
however, a committee was chosen from those 
supposed to possess the most persuasive elo- 
quence, to wait upon Smith and use all their 
blandishments to induce him to recede from 
his promises and to accommodate the gentle- 
men who were ready to give him a handsome 
profit for the desired wet goods. 

"The committee laboured in vain. Smith 
was obstinate, and they returned to their 
anxious friends to report failure. Never was 
a more indignant crowd gathered together 
to await unwelcome tidings. A saloon-keeper 
recently from Arkansas contrasted their un- 
happy condition with the bountiful life in his 
[4] 



Smith of Bear City 

own beloved state, where in the towns on 
the White River bottoms a bell rang at the 
beginning of every hour as a signal for the 
people to take their quinine and whiskey; 
and 'as for me,' he added, 'give me whiskey 
or give me death.' 

"The applause was deafening as sixteen 
other intrepid men ranged themselves beside 
the speaker and expressed similar sentiments. 
Owing to Smith's popularity it was decided 
to give him one more chance to withdraw 
from his perilous position. Another com- 
mittee was delegated to announce to him 
their ultimatum. 

" 'How many have subscribed to thispledge 
of "whiskey or death"?' asked Smith. 

" ' Seventeen of them,' was the reply. 

" Smith paused a few moments, and then, 
examining his weapons, said in a gentle 
voice, 'Boys, don't be too hard on an old man 
who is handy with his gun.' 

"The committee returned and reported 
the futility of all their efforts, and decided 
[5] 



Smith of Bear City 

that the time for heroic action had now come. 
The seventeen were wildly cheered as they 
drew up in line and started for Smith's store. 
I mounted my locomotive and ran it where 
I could get a good view of the proceedings 
and yet be out of danger from any stray 
bullets. 

"The seventeen had approached to within 
about fifty feet of Smith's store when I saw 
the old man come out in front of it — a ver- 
itable walking arsenal. Then Smith with a 
proud wave of the hand called a halt; they 
parleyed a while and the man at the right 
of the line blazed away at Smith, who re- 
turned the fire ; and then I noticed that there 
were but sixteen left in line. The second fel- 
low fired, but Smith was too quick for him, 
and now there were fifteen, then fourteen — 
thirteen — twelve — eleven — ten — and so on, 
until there stood old Smith alone, unharmed, 
serene. 

"I had seen enough for one day and was 
glad to get home. The next day I helped 
[6] 



Smith of Bear City 

plant them We gave them a first-class send- 
ofF, and decided that it was most fitting that 
they should be laid away in a row, as com- 
memorative of their systematic departure. 
As tombstones were scarce we selected an 
empty whiskey barrel for their monument, 
and inscribed their names on it with the 
prettiest red paint you ever saw." 

An incredulous hstener asked how it hap- 
pened that the seventeen were such fools as 
not to fire together, and reload if necessary, 
instead of each taking his turn. " Can't tell 
you," said the engineer, "unless they were all 
so absent-minded that they did n't think of 
it until they were dead." 



cn 



The Death of Curly Bill* 



All set," said the local stage agent, and 
as these customary farewells were spoken 
with the usual formal low bow to us all, the 
driver cracked his whip above the heads of 
the lead mules and we were off with a jerk 
and a rush, and for a short distance travelled 
with the only speed that we should again 
make for many a long day. 

There were six of us passengers booked 
on the way-bill of the J. B. Price Overland 
Coach Company, and most of us had tick- 
ets from Santa Fd, New Mexico, to Tucson, 
Arizona. The mail contract required the 
stage to leave Santa F^ at noon, and Mrs. 
Davis, the proprietress of the Exchange Ho- 
tel, arranged to have her chilli cofi came and ' 
other Mexican dishes ready so as to secure 

* The Curly Bill of international reputatio?i was killed in 
the maimer stated in the foot-note of the story of " Geritle 
Annie." 

[9] 



Smith of Bear City 

the shekels of the south-bound passengers 
to the widow's coffer rather than have them 
deposited at the restaurant, which would 
have better suited the passengers. 

It was a long and weary ride of six days 
and nights from Santa F^ to Silver City, 
New Mexico, where even good water was a 
luxury, especially in crossing the Jornada del 
Muerto (Journey of Death). Unless the pas- 
sengers had cravings for ancient goat meat, 
frijolas and tortillas, there would be inner 
voids and longings unsatisfied. Most of the 
landlords would have made first-class pirates, 
as they understood the art of taking coin and 
giving no value in return. Among the few 
places on the route where the meals were 
appetizing and wholesome was the first sup- 
per station south of Santa Fe. At a little be- 
fore six p.m. the adobe building of the sta- 
tion appeared in sight, while to the northeast 
and southwest of it could be seen the grade 
of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa F^ Rail- 
road, which was then being constructed. A 
[10] 



The Death of Curly Bill 

short distance beyond the adobe was a frame 
building erected in movable sections, so as 
to be easily taken down and rebuilt, and thus 
kept near the large force of graders, and this 
was the sign it bore: "Liquid Refreshments 
For All Nations Sold Within. Curly Bill- 
Drink Artist And Proprietor. Welcome." 

We saw a man heavily armed standing in 
front of this saloon ; he raised a Colt's re- 
volver, took quick aim and fired. He then pro- 
ceeded to walk to the side in front and north 
of the saloon and fired again, and doubling 
quickly on his tracks fired for the third, 
fourth and fifth times. Duels were not un- 
common nor infrequent on the frontier, and 
they were not by mutual agreement and ap- 
pointment of time and place, and with the dis- 
tance measured off, seconds chosen and signal 
for battle given, as by the code of a century 
ago — none of these polite accompaniments 
attended the settling of disputes on the fron- 
tier. A frontier duel was fought when either 
principal determined to resent an insult, real 
[11 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
or fancied, with the weapons of individual 
choice drawn quickly, and the "first drop" on 
the foe eagerly sought and used and the par- 
ticipants fighting unto death. During these 
conflicts all who were not personally in action 
were not usually inclined to stop and witness 
the fray, but were eager to hurry beyond the 
range of the guns, for in the excitement of 
a "man hunt" stray shots were liable to go 
wide of the mark and wound or even kill a 
bystander. There were very few men like 
Wild Bill Hickok, who could shoot with as 
calm a hand at a human target as at a 
wooden post. 

We realized that there was some engross- 
ing and exciting occurrence on hand as we 
saw several men scattered at various dis- 
tances from the saloon, though not very near 
the firing line, watching the man with one 
large cahbre revolver in his hand and a sec- 
ond one in his holster. We concluded that 
the drink artist was away from his picture- 
gallery and that some citizen a little too 
[ 12] 



The Death of Curly BiU 
fresh for the frontier was making a target of 
the establishment, or else that this man was 
shooting at a dog which ran a short distance 
after each shot and then faced about wag- 
ging his tail as though unmindful of peril 
and fond of exercise. 

When we arrived at the station and were 
getting out of the coach, the stage stable 
herder, who had been witnessing the field 
manoeuvres, rushed up to us and announced, 
"He hit him the last time." 

"Hit whom?" we inquired. 

" Hit Curly Bill, and has done him sure. A 
cannon-ball couldn't have swept his inner 
works prettier. Thank Heaven, Bill has seen 
his last sunset this side of Jordan. We '11 have 
a jubilee funeral in this precinct with the only 
mourner occupying the front seat and too 
dead to cry." 

The herder had cruelly expressed the sen- 
timents of the community and as mildly as 
any whom we met that evening. 

We soon learned all the facts of interest 
[ 13] 



Smith of Bear City 

in connection with this fatal quarrel. A civil 
engineer, whom I will call Stephan (as I have 
forgotten his name, but think that it began 
with "S" and was a German name), was em- 
ployed in the construction department of the 
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad to 
see that the line was followed and grade estab- 
lished by the contractors in accordance with 
the accepted specifications. This engineer had 
been for a long time frequently selected by 
Bill as a safe object for his gross personal 
abuse, having in view perhaps that by such 
domineering language and methods others 
more dangerous would feel intimidated. The 
graders were Bill's principal customers, and he 
had moved his saloon every few months so 
as to keep near the large body of these rough 
toilers whose only pastimes and pleasures 
were measured by tank work at a whiskey 
shop. On this morning Stephan had come to 
the station to mail letters to his far-off home 
near Bingen-on-the-Rhine, and Bill had met 
him and cursed him with an unusually large 
[14] 



The Death of Curly Bill 

volume of the coarsest vituperation, and had 
commanded him to take a stroll of a few hun- 
dred miles and to make his absence extended 
until time should be no more, or he would 
send him "across the range by the gun route." 
The engineer manifested his usual meek- 
ness and humility, making no reply to these 
threats and commands, but he returned to 
his tent brooding bitterly over the wrongs 
and outrages which he had suffered. He bal- 
anced in his mind the pros and cons of life, 
and finally decided that mere existence by 
sufferance was not worth retaining if he must 
longer endure such insults and abuse with 
quiet submission to this ruffian, though as- 
serting his manhood and resenting ill treat- 
ment meant a battle unto death. He sat down 
at his desk and wrote farewell letters to his 
friends and relatives in the far-away home 
country, that were to be mailed in the event 
of his demise. Then he resumed his work on 
the grade, apparently as unconcerned as if he 
were not probably returning to it for the 
[ 15] 



Smith of Bear City 
last time and would perhaps to-morrow oc- 
cupy one of the numerous unmarked graves 
which held Bill's victims. Most of them were 
of the homeless, friendless class, graders full 
of the saloon-keeper's bad whiskey, which put 
them on the war-path. Bill's plea of self-de- 
fence had always cleared him at the inquest, 
so that he had never been forced to face in- 
dictment for murder in the courts; and it had 
been surmised that this drink artist had won- 
derful skill in securing desirable testimony 
and in knowing how to handle the coroner 
and jury so as to have the verdict that of 
justifiable homicide. The engineer must seek 
him gun in hand, and the armed dead man 
that he would soon be would be made to ap- 
pear as the wilful aggressor by the testimony 
of the villain's cowardly satellites, and all the 
trouble and harm which he could reasonably 
expect to bring upon Bill for his cruel con- 
duct would be to force him to spend a few 
hours in the custody of the sheriff, while he 
who had dared to assert his just rights and 
[16] 



The Death of Curly Bill 
tried to free the camp from the rule of the de- 
sperado would be buried in a dishonoured 
grave in the sands of the dismal waste. 

But he could not falter now ; his choice was 
taken. Between five and six p.m. Stephan 
had arrived near Curly Bill's saloon, and had 
sent in word to the proprietor to come out 
into the open and settle their difficulties, and 
the best man would be the one left on earth 
when the supper-bell rang. 

" Go tell that bow-legged son of a theodo- 
lite," ran Bill's reply, "to set up his compass 
on some other range, for his time on earth in 
my sight is getting scarce, and it is up to him 
whether he had not better haul down his 
flag and hit the grade at a hundred miles an 
hour, or wake up in kingdom come, with only 
a cactus monument to mark his has-been." 

The messenger and the bar loungers made 
hurried departures, as business matters were 
getting too exciting and any delay might re- 
sult in serious personal inconvenience and 
fatality. Although Bill was always ready for 
[ 17] 



Smith of Bear City 
any "gun play" and was quick in action on 
the unprepared, he concluded that it was now 
more discreettogiveStephantime for thought 
and flight, and so he was surprised when he 
looked out and saw Stephan standing gun in 
hand, waiting to give him a fair show for his 
life. 

After a few more wild words on Bill's part 
the duel began with his shooting from the 
inside of his saloon and the engineer in action 
unprotected in the open. The noise of the 
rattling coach slowly lumbering along had 
prevented our hearing the explosion of Bill's 
ammunition as he fired from various selected 
positions inside the building. 

The engineer was placed at a great disad- 
vantage in the difficulty of gaining accurate 
knowledge of the location of his foe so that 
he might strike him in a vulnerable spot and 
end the conflict. In a second he saw that his 
best chance had come, and taking deliberate 
and careful aim he fired through the crack of 
the door as it swung back on its hinges; the 
[18] 



The Death of Curly Bill 
shot had done its precise work; the Hquor 
dealer had received a mortal wound, and the 
battle was indeed ended. 

We gathered around the dying man; he 
was still conscious and was suffering the ago- 
nies of excruciating pain. Bill had killed many 
men; it was his turn now to tread the way 
he had laid for others — "to die with his boots 
on." Stephan had given him the chance to 
go the way he would have chosen to leave 
the world. His curses and fierce denuncia- 
tions of the man with whom he had fought 
what had proved to be his last mortal con- 
flict were shocking in the extreme. "Boys, I 
would n't mind taking this short cut to hell 

if I had only sent this dirt-scratcher on 

ahead to let old Satan know that I was hot 
on the grader's trail, him." 

He spoke with difficulty, grinding his teeth 
in his wrath and hatred of his foe. His body 
shivered. His extremities grew cold. We 
thought that his last words were spoken, 
when in a whisper he gasped, "Tennessee, 
[19] 



Smith of Bear City 

old home, Mary, John, don't you know me 
any more? Well, it is getting d d dark." 

We looked at the dead man and we looked 
at one another, and we knew that Bill had 
sought and found the eternal night. 

Supper was ready — were we? The mistress 
of the dining station, never fair to look upon, 
now had a sort of fiendish glee lighting up 
her malicious countenance. The news of Bill's 
death was exhilarating news for her, and it 
seemed to inspire her to celebrate it in a kind 
of Fourth of July manner, but culinary du- 
ties demanded her attention. She said that 
Bill ought to have been "rounded up" long 
before and that she had been very free to 
tell him so; that as recently as that very 
morning at breakfast Bill had been abusively 
drunk and quarrelsome. She said she endured 
his rough criticism and ill treatment until in 
her anger she became unmindful of any per- 
sonal danger and had called him a skulking 
tinker in tarantula juice, and told him that 
if he did n't behave himself she 'd "throw him 
[20] 



The Death of Curly Bill 

into the kettle and bile him till he was redder 
than canned lobster." "What reply do you 
suppose that brute made to me who was 
serving him the best breakfast in the land? 
'You old rendezvous of a starvation outpost, 
you ought to change your base. Your old 
man ought to give this hash-house a rest 
and enter you at a beauty show where they 
would n't mind a mild fragrance of dish-water. 
That ten-story neck of yours bobbing above 
your ancient shack, with your delicate hands 
bigger than a double circus-ring, and those 
lean legs of yours, longer than the Suez Canal 
and adorned with those wondrous feet that 
cover more acreage than the state of Texas, 
would make you a sure winner. Now hush 
your trumpet and pass the griddle-cakes or 
I'll kill you and the kid that is in you.'" 

While it was plainly discernible that the 
mistress of the eating-station would soon 
have an heir, we were rather surprised at her 
gracious frankness in narrating so fully and 
freely the particulars of the morning's quarrel. 
[21 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
"I continued, 'You are getting mighty in- 
teresting. I 'm proud to know myself, you old 
signboard of a cheap distillery,' and I kept 
passing the compliments up to him, when 
my husband, who was in yonder room, thought 
that I was in a military campaign and needed 
him to come up with the supports, and what 
did he do but draw a self-cocking revolver 
from my work-basket ; but the poor man was 
never much of a gunner and his hand shook 
so that he shot himself in the knee. Bill 
thought the artillery had opened on him and 
he did not stop for his hot cakes. I think that 
you must have seen my husband. Did n't you 
meet a pair of gray horses hitched to a dead- 
axe wagon, with a man stretched out at full 
length on the straw and with a driver taking 
him to Santa Fe to see the surgeon ? Well, 
one thing my old man has learned, — he can 
shoot himself if he can't hit anything else. 
Bill has just kept him in a chronic state of 
mortal terror for months, but he couldn't 
scare one side of me. Have another steak, 
[ 22 ] 



The Death of Curly Bill 

sir? Here, try them hotter biscuits. More 
coffee ? " 

The tragedy had not materially lessened 
our appetites. We ate as if it were our last 
meal before a famine, and it certainly was to 
be our last good one until we should arrive 
at Mrs. Martin's, near the Point of Rocks. 

On my return trip I heard the rest of the 
story. The wounded man arrived safely in 
Santa Fe and his condition was not consid- 
ered serious; however, within a week from 
the date of the accident, lockjaw set in, and 
our landlady became a widow and a mother 
on the same day. 

The civil engineer surrendered himself to 
the county authorities; he was exonerated 
by the coroner's jury, and returned to his 
work. He was never again molested by the 
bad men of the border, for his reputation had 
been established. 



[ 23 ] 



Soapy Smith 

1 HAVE never known just where to pigeon- 
hole Soapy Smith; a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 
he certainly was. Meet him away from home, 
and what do we find, — a bunco-steerer, a tin- 
horn gambler, when not a proprietor where 
brace games were dealt, the associate of des- 
perate ruffians, a professional bad man of the 
border and an adept in all lines and ways of 
winning the money of the unwary through 
nefarious schemes and devices ; in short, he 
was a leader in the flagrant lawlessness which 
marked the frontier days. He had the repu- 
tation of being afraid of neither man nor 
devil. No one was ever more ready to draw 
his gun and fight to the death; death mat- 
tered little to him if while he lived none 
dared to dispute his courage and his readi- 
ness to do, dare and die. In the lower strata 
of society he was admired and loved for his 
fearlessness and generosity and his faithful- 
[ 25 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

ness to his associates when in trouble. 

Wicked and sinister though he was to the 
outside world, and as merciless as a pirate 
in capturing booty, place him in his home 
among his own and we find a devoted husband 
and father, and across the threshold of this 
home no one of his evil companions was ever 
allowed to step. In his own home he was Mr. 
Jefferson Smith, a gentleman above reproach, 
and to his wife and children the dearly be- 
loved who guarded them from all harm and 
bountifully provided for their every want, 
ministering to their happiness in every pos- 
sible manner. Woe to the man, woman or 
child who dared bring sorrow to them or al- 
lude in any way to a life other than the one 
they knew. They lived a quiet life in Denver 
and were almost in solitude when at the beau- 
tiful country home in the San Juan. 

But life was far from being solitary to this 

human paradox. I first saw him in the spring 

of 1879. Standing in front of the old Grand 

Central Hotel in Denver one day, I saw ap- 

[ 26 ] 



Soapy Smith 
proaching me a man driving a bay horse 
hitched to a hght buggy. He stopped by my 
side and hfted a box from the bottom of the 
buggy to the seat, and I noticed that it con- 
tained several cakes of soap. Looking me 
squarely in the face, he said, "Will you al- 
low me to present you with fifty dollars?" I 
declined with thanks, though such benevo- 
lence might have received more considera- 
tion had I been familiar with his game. 

" That 's right, my boy. I admire independ- 
ence that 11 earn its own money and not be 
the recipient of charity, but they 're not all 
built that way. 

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Come gather round 
me, fellow-citizens, and rejoice, for I am going 
to invite you to a feast where money is served 
with every course. This morning it will be 
my pleasure to distribute several hundred dol- 
lars among those who gather here. I have 
more cash than I have any use for. I am no 
money fiend who wants to pile up gold to 
see the eagles gather. My soap is a universal 
[27] 



Smith of Bear City 

blessing and my untarnished name is its heri- 
tage. It will cleanse your consciences ; it will 
relieve your life's burdens. It 's more than 
meat and drink. In my scheme of the brother- 
hood of man, I have a profit-sharing depart- 
ment. It 's my business to sell soap ; but lis- 
ten: what do you find inside the wrappers? 
Perhaps it will be a hundred-dollar bill ; per- 
haps it '11 be a fifty, possibly a twenty or a ten. 
And if by chance you don't get the cur- 
rency, why, you 've got good honest soap that 
will brighten all the days of your life. Yes- 
terday was a day of large profits, and this 
morning I must divide liberally with my fel- 
lowmen. I cannot stop to teach you how to 
play both ends, the top and bottom and the 
sides of every cake of soap, so as to land the 
greenbacks every trip ; but if your eye is keen 
and your brain alert you will buy the cake 
wrapped in money, while if you are slow and 
stupid you will at least secure a valuable soap 
that will let you ride on its lather over the 
tallest ranges of the Rockies and through the 
[28] 



Soapy Smith 
deepest mines, and if you don't stake the 
richest claims, it won't be my soap's fault. 
You may not win at faro ; the roulette wheel 
may disappoint you; poker be your undoing; 
the race-track drive you to suicide; but my 
soap will float you over the sorrows and 
troubles of life and land you in the Elysian 
fields of perfect bliss. There is a great variety 
of tastes in this world, but there is an amaz- 
ing agreement as to my soap, especially when 
I throw in the hundreds, the fifties, the twen- 
ties and tens at a clip. How I like to make 
my pocket-book look sick after a day's wan- 
dering! But all I have to do is to sleep and 
wake up in the morning to find that the 
profits from my soap sold in all lands will en- 
able me to beat Old Nick and have three 
hundred and sixty-five Christmas days every 
year. Perhaps if you managed my factory 
you would prefer to spend a thousand dol- 
lars a day in newspaper ads., but I like the 
social way of meeting my friends and helping 
the boys that greet me, plain homely country- 
[29] 



Smith of Bear City 

men like yourselves. Now, my friends, watch 
me while I fold the bills in the wrappers." 

Then this great benefactor of mankind 
would pick up one cake after another, and 
seemingly place the bills inside the wrappers 
and put them back in the box in a most inno- 
cent and open way, as if he were anxious the 
watchers should select the packages contain- 
ing the prizes. 

When these preliminary arrangements 
were completed, he continued: "Gentlemen, 
if there is any man here in absolute need, let 
him come up, and if I find him worthy I will 
give him a stake." Probably some would have 
accepted this offer had not the condition de- 
terred, and then, too, times were prosperous 
and almost every one seemed flush. 

"Well, I see that there are no beggars 
here, but that you are all worthy men, and 
the only method for the distribution is for 
you to back your judgement on bids. How 
much am I offered for this cake of soap ? " 

The bidding between two of Smith's cap- 
[ 30 ] 



Soapy Smith 
pers was spirited, but for twenty dollars 
Smith counted the one, two, three, and the 
successful capper showed his hundred dollars 
to the crowd and insisted upon proper thanks 
to the protesting Soapy. Smith then took up 
a cake which in his seemingly careless han- 
dling disclosed the hidden hundred-dollar bill. 
Bidding began ; now was the time to be on 
one's guard, but an unwary onlooker bid it 
off finally for thirty dollars and got a good 
cake of soap. Not discouraged at this out- 
come, number three with a five-dollar bill 
got twenty dollars, which of course was fol- 
lowed by several unsuccessful bids from the 
spectators. It was not long before the crowd 
began to realize that it was a put-up job to 
rob their pocket-books rather than replenish 
them, and at this juncture Smith announced 
that as so few cared for money he would bid 
them good day. However he did not go far 
for other dupes, and was soon making his 
generous off^ers to another audience. 

For several months during the early Lead- 
[31 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
ville excitement and with the rush of emi- 
grants to the mines, these daily soap sales con- 
tinued to yield large profits. But as Smith's 
fame grew, his dividends dwindled, for the 
unenlightened constituents diminished, bids 
became small, and Smith abandoned the soap 
enterprise and returned to the saloon and 
gambling business and ward politics where 
he could herd the ballot-box stufFers so as to 
secure from the authorities immunity from 
police interference. At last Denver grew 
weary of his methods; he was arrested on the 
charge of vagrancy and fined a hundred dol- 
lars, which he paid and then left the city per- 
manently. 

When I next heard of Soapy Smith he 
was in Creede. Creede was the last of the 
mining towns in Colorado typical of the 
earlier frontier period. The gambling-halls 
were run wide open, and every kind of a brace 
game that could gather in the shekels was 
allowed and played. 

One winter night when the snow was fall- 
[32] 



Soapy Smith 
ing heavily and the cold was intense, and 
Smith's saloon was selling hot drinks as fast 
as a row of bar-tenders could supply them, a 
shabby and thinly clad man entered the room; 
his embarrassment made it evident that this 
was his first visit to a saloon and gambling-hall. 
He seemed to be looking for an office where 
he could present his inquiry; not seeing any 
such place he started toward the bar, then 
hesitated in a bewildered way, but finally 
with much diffidence made his way up to the 
counter. One of the men in white aprons laid 
a glass in front of him and asked what he 
would have ; he managed to stammer that 
he had a letter for INIr. Jefferson Smith which 
he wished to present in person. Smith was 
seated in the "look-out" chair, watching a 
game of faro where the bets were heavy ; the 
visitor was directed to this chair and pre- 
sented the letter, and then stepped back to 
wait results. 

The loafers and hangers-on soon recog- 
nized that the new arrival was probably an 
[ 33 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

itinerant circuit rider, and thinking to while 
away the time by having a little sport with 
him they were profuse in their offers of to- 
bacco and invitations to drink, and were gen- 
erally guying him with annoying remarks 
while Smith was reading the letter. It was 
from his wife, and was a plea for him to be- 
friend the minister and to assist him with the 
funds necessary to start a church. The theory 
that we hear set forth in these days that if we 
believe a man good, he will be so, was about 
to find a curious exemplification in — Mr. 
Jefferson Smith, shall we call him? He fin- 
ished reading the letter, and then looking at 
the men who were tormenting the messen- 
ger, started toward them, shaking his fists 
violently, and said, "Don't you dare to in- 
sult my friend; the next d — d cuss that 
makes fun of the parson I'll fill so full of 
lead that there will be nothing left of him 
but solder." There was a hurried standing 
back, a very polite lifting of hats as Smith 
led the man by the arm and walked him to 
[34] 



Soapy Smith 

the front of the hall where the whole assem- 
blage could be faced. A look-out chair plat- 
form was ordered to be brought, and standing 
on it Soapy began his address: "Gentlemen, 
you'll please be quiet." The admonition was 
hardly needed, for the proverbial pin could 
certainly have been heard. "Every dealer 
will turn his box down. The bar will serve 
no more drinks. Me and Jesus are going 
to run this place for the space of about half 
an hour, and we'll have no nonsense nor 
funny business, nor no interruptions to the 
speaker." 

With this introduction, the self-consti- 
tuted preacher continued : " My brother who 
stands here by my side has brought me a 
letter from the truest of the true ; from one 
whose thoughts are as far above mine as the 
stars of heaven are above the deepest caverns 
of the earth; whose life has been a bright and 
shining light amidst the dark shadows of my 
wanderings ; whose name no man could speak 
lightly of in my presence and live. I will not 
[ 35 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

in the red lights of this hall and to my com- 
panions in the rapids mention her name. But 
she has asked me to assist this minister to 
start a church here and to befriend him in 
every way possible, and by G — d I will do it, 
and the Lord is going to have his innings 
right here in this whiskey shop." 

It was interesting to watch the look of 
blank astonishment, wonder, disgust and 
alert curiosity which swept around the room. 
These men were certainly only too used to 
hearing the sacred name hurled about, but 
this was different. However, there was no 
time to speculate, for Soapy 's words came 
thick and fast. 

" I am not very fresh on the trail, and the 
Book from which to read the text is not 
handy, but the foundation facts you shall 
have just the same. When a Man tries to help 
you even if you don't understand His ways, 
and when His greatest of all love has been 
tested by His dying for sinners, — and I guess 
every cuss of you here will come under that 
[36] 



Soapy Smith 
heading, — I say when such a Friend sends 
His representative to see you He is entitled 
to receive your attention and support. A mud 
hen can't become an eagle nor a burro a lion 
by any transformation at death, nor can any 
of us old pioneers of the down grade stack 
the cards so as to beat the Lord at His own 
game, and I for one am not going to try 
climbing the heights of glory when I know 
that I am ticketed for the through express 
that does n't make any stops this side of hell. 
Some of us may be too late for our brother's 
ministrations, but there are others here who 
have only just begun to go down hill, who 
don't take more than a dozen drinks a day, 
who have n't killed many men, who hain't re- 
cently held up a coach or a train, who have n't 
stole much and don't bet high at faro, and I 
just propose to turn them over to this soul- 
herder. The parson will give his receipt to 
the Lord for you ; then if you don't like the 
shackles and want to return to the Bad 
Lands all you have got to do is to ring in a 
[37] 



Smith of Bear City 

substitute, so as to keep our church number 
sohd. Now how can a parson corral them un- 
less he has a shop and the right kind of a lay- 
out to help on his work. That 's the part I 'm 
going to have for lastly, so I '11 leave the finan- 
cial side for a moment and get down to city 
patriotism. 

"I believe a camp thrives best where all 
kinds of business get a fair show. What would 
our whiskey shops do if there were no mines ? 
What would the mines do if there were no 
engineers, blacksmiths, steam-fitters, timber 
men and teamsters ? What would become of 
our merchants if we did not get hungry, and 
if we wore blankets, and the women cared no 
more for style than a Ute squaw?" 

This was a new role for the saloon-keeper, 
and he was perspiring from the force of his 
own eloquence, but he was not through yet 
and did not propose to stop until he had 
made a clean job. 

"Now I cannot exactly state what present 
necessity our friend will fill. We have got 
[38 ] 



Soapy Smith 
along thus far tolerably well without religion, 
but 't ain't very inspiring at funerals when the 
undertaker is the whole works. For my part 
I don't see what right we 've got to call in 
the minister when we come into this world 
and when we go out, if we give him the cold 
shoulder the rest of the time. Perhaps it was 
lucky that when our friend Bob Ford was 
killed there was no parson in camp, — that 
is, lucky for the parson, for 't ain't fair to speak 
agin the dead, and I must allow the parson 
would have been up against a brace game in 
slinging happy conclusions at his wind-up. 

"Some of you miserable whelps over in 
yonder corner, who are so full you can't keep 
awake, will find it to your advantage to listen 
to my sermon or you '11 have a longer sleep 
than you have bargained for, and the services 
of the parson will be needed sooner than he 
expected. I mean you, Whistling Dick Jones, 
and you too. Barbarian Brown, and a few 
more of you. 

"Then there 's another job that the parson 
[39] 



Smith of Bear City 
can do slicker than any justice of the peace. 
Perhaps you men have forgotten that you 
have famihes 'way back East, but those of 
you who are ehgible and believe in women 
and children and school-houses can figure 
with pleasure on a sober dealer at the wedding 
'round-up,' and when it comes to the final 
show down and the kissing of the bride there 
will be no aroma of whiskey floating round 
like a sea fog in a dead calm. 

"When Sunday comes you'll know it, and 
there will be other music than the dance-hall 
bill of fare. I long to hear the war-whoop of 
salvation resound through these eternal hills 
and to listen to the paeans of the saints as they 
shout hallelujah, and with aniens roaring like 
artillery. A regular dose of religion given you 
once a week will do you as much good as a 
bath in getting the blue smoke and brimstone 
out of your systems. So I say, let the efful- 
gent rays of Methodism illumine your dark 
souls like a lighthouse on a rock-bound 

[40] 






r-% 



/ 




iU/i^ed^ye'Z^v^^^/n^yA^y^M /M^z/t^M^*vey^^>^t^«/'J«■?^^| 



Soapy Smith 

coast. We shall get used to the preacher and 
he will get used to us, and we shan't know 
how to get along without each other. I tell 
you what, Creede is behind the times ; we Ve 
got to have all the things there are on 
earth, and Creede must have a church, and 
we are going to build it. Now, boys, the jig is 
up to you. These everlasting hills that pierce 
the heavens, and will be here when you and 
I are dead and gone, must not look down in 
shame on a miser gang that denied the Lord's 
shepherd a living. My brother is a worthy 
man, but he can't play his game without his 
shop and his tools, and we've got to grub- 
stake him and raise the wad that will raise 
the temple. Now every man in this room has 
got to chip in nothing less than a dollar. If 
you have n't got a dollar, you have no busi- 
ness to be in a gambling-house. If there are 
any professional loafers and dead beats here, 
who think that my church is going to be a 
free-lunch stand, and they don't put in a dol- 

[41 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

lar, 'now is the time to withdraw' — that s a 
regular parson phrase. 

" I '11 start the game with a fifty dollars, and 
while the band plays ' Honey, yo 's made a 
hit with me,' I'll pass round the hat. Any 
of you who ' s got credit but with no cash 
handy, I '11 stake, but no nickels and no small 
change goes." Above the sound of fumbling 
in pockets could be heard the drop of Soapy 's 
fifty dollars in gold. Not a man in the house 
save the parson, to whom the opportunity of 
contributing was not extended, failed to do- 
nate according to the limit laid down, though 
two or three persons borrowed their dollars 
from Smith. The contribution amounted to 
three hundred and fifty dollars. Soapy's dis- 
appointment was evident. "Parson," he said, 
" I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that we are a little 
shy on cash. Three hundred and fifty dollars 
isn't enough to start in business with; you 
can't do a good job on a cent less than seven 
hundred dollars. You don't want a coal-bin 

[ 42] 



Soapy Smith 
for a church, and you ain't going to have it. 
Why, the Lord and the Devil would both be 
ashamed of it. Now, if you were a dead game 
sport, I should ask you to stake the three 
hundred and fifty dollars on the high card." 
The poor parson looked a shade paler, as if 
scared for fear he might be forced to do the 
Devil's work to earn his money. But Soapy 
came to his rescue by saying that possibly he 
might not know a deuce from a king and that 
he would put a dollar on the high card for 
the church, and if it won he might get his 
seven hundred dollars. Whether the dollar 
on the high card won or lost, the minister 
could not have told to save his life, but he 
did know that Soapy Smith handed him 
seven hundred dollars, and that there was a 
rousing cheer from the spectators and that 
he managed to add a loud amen. He also 
grasped Smith's hand vigorously and tried 
to thank him, but words failed and tears took 
their place as they walked to the door where 

[ 43 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
he received a final wish of good luck from 
Smith. 

In three minutes the unusual interruption 
was a thing of the past and as if it had not 
been ; the games were in full blast and glasses 
were rattling. 

A'\^hen the Klondike excitement was at its 
height, Smith emigrated to Skagway and be- 
came the proprietor of the largest saloon and 
gambling-hall there; he was politically the 
most influential man in the city government 
and was known as the Shah of Skagway. He 
decided that the influence and emoluments 
of chief of police would best promote his 
business and ambition, and he doubtless would 
have secured that office had he lived a few 
days longer. The end came quickly ; in fron- 
tier phrase, he died of "defective vision," 
that is, the other fellow with the gun saw 
him first. 

He was far from wife and children when 
his tragic career ended; their sorrow was deep, 
and in anguish the widow exclaimed, "The 
[ 44 ] 



Soapy Smith 

dearest husband and the most devoted father 
has left us." It was well, for thus the incog- 
nito was maintained to the last. 



[ 45 ] 



The Cook from Texas 

AN EXPERIENCE OF FRANK R. CULBERTSON 
SUPERINTENDENT OF THE TIGER MINE 



LJig in the dirt, swing a pickaxe, do any- 
thing, but don't attempt to feed people : it 's 
the most thankless task on the face of the 
earth ; above all things, don't undertake to run 
a boarding-house in a mining camp, unless 
you are prepared to wield a revolver in one 
hand and a pie-knife in the other. But I 
did n't set out to write a second " Don't." 

I have never read historical works on the 
subjects of cooks and the best sources of sup- 
ply and the ethics of their profession, but 
from my experience I judge that they do not 
obtain their positions because of any know- 
ledge of the culinary art. Indeed, it is now 
my impression that when everything else fails 
they set up as first-class, experienced cooks. 
Doubtless some of the Chinese order are 
held in high esteem because of their skill in 
[47] 



Smith of Bear City 

economizing the waste and making it filling, 
— in short, being able to do what a Chicago 
cook advertised as his specialty, — "re-do 
victuals." 

Much against my will I was forced to 
supervise the management of the boarding- 
house of the Tiger Mine in Burke, Idaho. 
We did not plan to make it a money-making 
scheme, but simply desired to furnish good 
wholesome food that would enable our men 
to do efficient work in the mines and mills. 
Complaints and ingratitude were our only 
reward. Our beef dated from antiquity; our 
lamb was roast billy-goat; our cured meats 
were soaked in the ocean ; our fish had swum 
round the ark, and there was a unanimous 
decision that our menu should be thoroughly 
overhauled. In vain we tried to soothe their 
feelings and tickle their palates with French- 
titled dishes, but an inordinate fondness for 
American pie seemed to dwarf all other gas- 
tronomical desires. I tried to cater to the 
various nationalities and kept the wires hot 
[48] 



The Cook from Texas 
ordering a wonderful variety of what I hoped 
would remind them of home, but the pie of 
their adopted country seemed to have sup- 
planted all culinary patriotism. 

I was constantly reminded of an old fellow 
in the East who, upon making his only visit 
to a large city and being handsomely served 
with an up-to-date breakfast, said, " I wonder 
if we could get any pie out of these fellows ; 
I never set down to no meal of victuals to 
home only when I have pie." 

It became necessary to place a sign in the 
dining-room, and it read like this: "Beloved 
boarders, hereafter no pie will be served for 
breakfast, by order of the superintendent." 
With what result? I was denounced as an 
aristocratic tyrant, utterly unmindful of the 
needs of the working-man. A petition for the 
restoration of the breakfast pie was circulated 
and unanimously signed. I yielded, but we 
lacked oven capacity, and the morning supply 
of pie was often insufficient for the insatiate 
demand. 

[49] 



Smith of Bear City 

Life became burdensome to the cooks and 
resignations soon became more numerous 
than apphcations. I reahzed that soon the sup- 
ply of cooks would give out unless the appe- 
tites for pie became more normal. 

One day I was informed that the State 
Federation of Cooks was about to black-list 
me and that my two cooks intended to leave 
before sundown. The closing of the boarding- 
house seemed imminent, and that could only 
be followed by the shutting down of the mine. 
I was contemplating the cowardly procedure 
of flight before the final disaster and before 
I should be worn to a shadow, when my office 
door opened and in walked as tall and onery 
looking a cuss as ever mortal eye beheld. 
His shirt-front was covered with tobacco 
juice, and his hands showed that he was a full- 
fledged member of the conclave of the Great 
Unwashed, but sweeter words never flowed 
from mortal lips: "Boss, do you want a 
cook ? " Did I want a cook ? Did ever a human 
being want one half so much? I could have 
[50] 



The Cook from Texas 

embraced him then and there, and hastened 
to express my admiration for his useful pro- 
fession and my desire to secure his perpetual 
services. However, I deemed it my duty to 
warn him of the dangers and trials ahead of 
him. As I ended the story of my woes and of 
what he would have to endure, unless he had 
a patent for quick action on pies, he drew 
himself up to a height that seemed to me of 
ten feet and assumed an air as invincible as 
the combined navies of the world, and said, 
" I 'd like to see the colour of the man's eyes 
who would ask me a second time for pie for 
breakfast. You and I can make a dicker, I 
reckon;" and we did. 

The eventful morning came. The miners 
and mill men ate their mush and meat, and 
then there arose war-whoop yells for pie. The 
waiters responded that all such delicacies 
would thereafter be omitted from the morn- 
ing rations, under order of the new kitchen 
authority. Authority, indeed ! they would see 
where the authority lay. They did not pro- 
[51 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

pose to be thus again thwarted in their epicu- 
rean plans, and proceeded to express them- 
selves in forcible language — when behold 
there stood before them the above-named au- 
thority plus a Winchester rifle and a self-cock- 
ing revolver, both drawn for action. " I am on 
a hunt for gentlemen who want pie for break- 
fast. I am a most peaceable man, but there 's 
one thing that always makes the bullets fly, 
and that is to see the boarders with no more 
discretion than to call for pie for breakfast; 
and when I assist in putting them under 
ground, I always build them a pie monument, 
on which the inscription reads : ' I wanted pie 
and got earth. The cook from Texas planted 
me. 

Every one seemed intent upon eating his 
breakfast. " Well, boys, I admire your whole- 
some appetites. Don't ever forget that I 
know what 's best for you. I am the king of 
mush-makers, a monarch in bread-making, 
an all-round champion on roasts, a 'way-up 
master of the doughnut art, forked light- 
[52] 



The Cook from Texas 

ning on dinner pies, — in fact, I'm the boss 
cook of the Lone Star State, and the man 
don't hve that's got anything against Texas. 
I think you will like my fodder when you 
get used to it, but be careful and don't hurt 
my feelings." 

For the next few days satisfied looks and 
pleasant smiles seemed to betoken that the 
pie problem had been satisfactorily solved; 
but such was not the case. The troubles be- 
tween the Mine Owners' Association and the 
Miners' Union became serious, and the latter 
decided that the cook from Texas must mi- 
grate to another clime, and four stalwart 
miners were detailed to persuade him to this 
course by approved weapons, and to conduct 
him to the next out-going train. I did not 
succeed in getting him to follow this advice 
until he had got action and shot one of the 
party. 

The next day I received a telegram, "Is 
my job still open to me ? " signed " C. from T." 
Upon being informed that it was, he said 
[53] 



Smith of Bear City 
that a pard of his from San Antonio had just 
arrived, and there were not enough men in 
Burke to scare them, and that he would re- 
turn on the next train. They arrived with 
their Winchesters in their hands and their 
Colt's "navies" in their belts, and marched to 
the boarding-house. 

A few days later the troubles at the Coeur 
d'Alene mines became serious. The detec- 
tives employed by the Mine Owners' Associa- 
tion reported that my cook would surely be 
assassinated. Not wishing to longer endanger 
the life of so highly valued a servant, I in- 
duced him to accept a position as head cook 
with a mining friend in a more peaceable 
camp. He left none too soon, for the next 
day came the battle at the Gem Mine, and 
the striking miners held violent possession df 
most of the mines, and some of the marked 
men disappeared from the active scenes of 
earth. 



[54] 



Satan, the Burro 

HOW HE DISCOVERED THE BUNKER HILL AND SULLIVAN 
MINES AT WARDNER, IDAHO 



In the year there might have been seen 

silhouetted against a clear Idaho evening 
sky an old burro, Satan by name. Perhaps we 
might say that he had a meditative air; he 
had been making effective use of his voice, 
and now seemed awaiting results. Down be- 
low, a man could be seen hurrying up the 
cliff in no pacific frame of mind. The situa- 
tion was all very simple and uninteresting, — 
the animal had w^andered off, and the owner 
had had a long hunt and chase to find him, 
— why relate it? 

Sitting in his office in New York, or per- 
haps in Threadneedle Street, London, at a 
somewhat later period, a rich South African 
engineer might have been seen reading his 
mail gathered from all quarters of the globe. 
What is his connection with the burro? you 
[55] 



Smith of Bear City- 
ask. The old creature is very fond of telling 
his story, if you have the patience to listen. 

"Yes, they say I am getting old and gar- 
rulous; some say, too, that the world moves 
in a circle, and my having concluded that it 
is time for one of my race to again use the 
language of men may support the theory; 
the less pessimistic say that the circle is a 
spiral, and so to-day you shall hear my tale 
in the on-moving, world-conquering English. 
We would not have you think we have not 
expressed ourselves since our distinguished 
ancestor took upon his tongue the ancient 
Hebrew, else you would not listen to me 
now. We have discussed among ourselves — 
in a language perchance you thought un- 
musical — the social animal problems, men's 
duty in kind treatment of beasts ; and though 
we have been so unwise as to bewail our sor- 
rows and sufferings at times, our sunny na- 
ture has asserted itself until we have been 
styled the 'canaries of the Rocky Mountains.' 

"Such distinction as is laid upon me may 
[56] 



Satan, the Burro 

permit a personal word ere I tell my story. 
With the humans the date of one's birth 
comes first. For myself, I don't remember 
when I was born, but now when I am al- 
ways weary and have tired, aching bones, it 
seems many years since I used to follow my 
mother and spend days that seemed short, so 
busy was I playing and drinking milk. I have 
endured hardships with patience and forti- 
tude. I have been nearly starved in a land of 
plenty. I have received cruel blows when my 
willing labours should have been followed by 
comfort. I have borne heavy burdens from 
early morning until the taskmasters were 
worn out, and when the burro band of bro- 
thers to which I belonged was turned loose 
to seek forage, then we were seized by wicked 
boys and ridden for miles, and the ones who 
swung the heaviest clubs and used the sharp- 
est spurs and covered the longest distances 
were most lauded. 

" Why was I called Satan ? That 's one of 
the mysteries as well as sorrows of my life. 
[57] 



Smith of Bear City 
It is the commonest name among our tribe; 
I suppose because the western miner has an 
extra supply of nether-world terms to be dis- 
posed of wherever we are concerned. Another 
mystery is that my favourite brother, who 
is n't half so patient and submissive as I am, 
and who I admit has a vicious temper, is called 
Goody. Now my disposition is serene and I 
could have made a gentle family pet if Herod 
had not killed all the good boys in the early 
A. D. I can't understand these strange ways. 
"And here is another contradiction, — I 
am a prohibitionist, and yet with humiliating 
regret I am compelled to acknowledge that 
my owner is a saloon-keeper in Spokane. My 
master has a poor supply of delicacies for an 
animal that practises total abstinence. His 
beer-kegs I abhor (I am sorry to say that 
Goody likes the sour beer-drippings). There 
are no delicate morsels in his abandoned 
cheese cases, and what is thrown to us from 
the free lunches of the bar is too salt, and 
his sardines are Maine herring packed in poor 
[58] 



Satan, the Burro 

oil which gives an unpleasant odour to the 
cans which are served to us. 

"But you are in a hurry for my tale. You 
shall have it, and shall see that with all our 
woes the law of compensation holds good in 
our little world as well as in yours. 

"During the Coeur d'Alene mining ex- 
citement I used to hear old man Kellogg urge 
my master to fit out a prospecting trip ; and 
one day an extra prick of my long ears 
brought the welcome words that I would 
make an ideal beast for packing the grub- 
stake and camping outfit. My brain was on 
fire with this first appreciative word; the 
friendly hand on my neck, the cracker and 
apple and sugar that followed, roused all my 
loyalty and generosity. If he would but take 
me with him we should not return, I re- 
solved, till we had located as valuable a mine 
as could be found in the Coeur d'Alene coun- 
try. I had listened to the descriptions of the 
country, and I could smell lead quartz when 
miles away from it; it could and should be 
[59] 



Smith of Bear City 
done, and I felt a new life creeping into my 
weary bones. 

"An agreement was finally entered into, 
and old man Kellogg, C. Rouke, Dutch Jake, 
the gambler, and Con. Sullivan were, in min- 
ing parlance, grub-staked by my master. We 
burros were loaded and ready to start, but 
unalloyed happiness was not to be my por- 
tion. To hold views at variance with one's 
surroundings is always discomforting. I no- 
ticed with regret that my master had brought 
some bar glasses and a demijohn of whiskey, 
and after the whole party had drunk rather 
freely, Dutch Jake suggested that it might 
bring them good luck to treat us burros to 
the fire-water. So my unscrupulous master 
filled the glass with whiskey and put in a 
choice lump of sugar, and then said very po- 
litely, * Satan, let us take a drink together 
before we part.' I do not claim to be a model 
donkey, and I know that I have a decided 
weakness for sweets and I longed for the su- 
gar in the bottom of the glass; but my Kan- 
[60] 



Satan, the Burro 

sas ancestry helped to fortify me against the 
wiles of the tempter and so I brayed at him 
long and loud, until he was almost stunned 
by my voice and hurried away to brother 
Goody, who, I am sorry to say, emptied the 
glass with one gulp and brayed for more. 

"Nothing of interest occurred during the 
next few weeks. My life was a monotonous 
round of travel. Our prospecting party met 
with ill success. They found no placer gold 
near the streams nor any ledges carrying 
values in the hills. They wandered up and 
down the canons and across high mountain 
ranges, and the profanity of the whole party 
shockingly increased. Finally, when the grub- 
stake was nearly gone, Jake, the gambler, 
took my brother Goody and went to Spokane 
for more supplies. They were gone several 
days, and on their return reported that my 
master was weary putting up hard cash for 
prospectors who had in return given nothing 
but vigorous appetites, and he ordered them 
to quit work for him and to bring Satan home. 
[61 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

But Jake was no quitter. He had a little 
credit at the stores, and so Goody brought 
back to us a limited load of supplies. I real- 
ized that the new grub-stake would last but 
a few days. I hated to see old man Kel- 
locfo; stranded and I knew that life would be 
less tolerable for me after a losing expedition; 
so for reasons both generous and pruden- 
tial I began to study the geological forma- 
tion of the country and the character of the 
rocks. As I said before, I can smell lead ore 
miles away, and I resolved to find a lead sil- 
ver mine at once. When night came and my 
pack was taken off, I gazed innocently at old 
Kellogg as if saying, ' I shall be grazing about 
the camp and there will be no trouble in find- 
ing me in the morning.' After relieving my 
faintness with some choice grass, I began to 
sniff for lead. I carefully tried the south, 
but there were no indications of ore there; 
then I subjected each angle of the west to 
careful survey by exhaustive suction and in- 
halation, but not the faintest suggestion of 
[62] 



Satan, the Burro 

lead could I detect; slowly and carefully 1 
tested the north, but no success there. Al- 
most in despair I began to try the east; 
forty-five degrees, fifty, sixty-five degrees, I 
had turned in the circuit, and no lead. Had 
my name been truly descriptive I should 
have begun to curse the country and swear 
like Dutch Jake and might have quit alto- 
gether, but I am a persevering plodder. As 
I touched the seventy-third degree east I 
caught a faint leaden odour from a source a 
long way off, and hoping that at another 
range it might be stronger, I completed the 
circuit, but found no other indications of 
mineral. So standing on the seventy-third de- 
gree again, I made a thorough examination 
of the exact direction, and not wishing to 
lose more time by stopping for further sniffs, 
I calculated the correct bearings by the stars 
and then started for the ore lodes. After walk- 
ing a few miles that peculiar lead odour which 
in its natural state is made manifest only to 
burros grew so strong that I did not need to 
[63] 



Smith of Bear City 

consult the stars for further guidance. I was 
so intensely excited that for the first time in 
my life of my own accord I began to trot and 
then to lope with all speed. A few moments 
of wild galloping brought me to the largest 
ledge of lead silver ore that up to the present 
date has been located in Idaho. After exam- 
ining it carefully and deciding that I had dis- 
covered a bonanza, I lay down and took a 
much needed rest, enjoying the longest sleep 
of my life, as fortunately there were no boys 
in this wilderness and the pack of the pro- 
spectors was far away. After a delicious break- 
fast of shrubs I began to deliberate; my first 
impulse in my eagerness was to rush back to 
my prospectors and bring them to my prize. 
However, on second thought, remembering 
that humans have never discovered any odour 
in unmelted lead ore, and that none of my 
prospectors were even fair linguists, I hesi- 
tated to adopt this method, fearing that I 
might be driven back to Spokane. So I de- 
cided to remain by my discovery and lift up 
[64] 



Satan, the Burro 

my voice from there, hoping it would toll 
my friends on to me. My voice is resonant 
and of good carrying quality, but my con- 
tinual powerful action was making me hoarse 
when I heard old man Kellogg say, ' There 's 
the old devil sitting on the top of a d — d 
big ledge.' Though I did n't care to be called 
by any less polite term than Satan, I was 
mightily glad to see the old fellow, and I 
gave a terrific roar and began kicking off the 
cap rock of the ledge so that he could see the 
pay streak. He came puffing up quite out of 
breath and glaring at me savagely, and I 
feared he was going to strike me for having 
given them such a long search, when sud- 
denly he stopped and, giving a wild hurrah, 
called to his companions, 'Come up here; I'll 
be damned if Satan has n't struck it rich ! ' 

"I enjoyed seeing the old boys dance a 
jig and hearing their happy prophecies and 
bright prospects of again visiting their boy- 
hood homes 'way down East ; and even Dutch 
Jake, who loved me least of all, — and I am 
[65] 



Smith of Bear City 

not conscious of having ever won much affec- 
tion in my Hfe, — would gladly have show- 
ered me with sugar and turned me loose for 
a filling. 

"The prospectors located two claims, and 
after long discussion one was called Bunker 
Hill and the other Sullivan. Old Kellogg 
thought that the Bunker Hill should have 
been named after me as the discoverer, but 
he was outvoted. If they had only agreed to 
this and changed my name to Bunker Hill, 
it would have been a grateful recognition of 
my services and its moral significance would 
have been highly appreciated, but no such 
good fortune was in store for me. I suppose 
they thought a Satan by any other name 
would bray as loud. 

"I was greatly troubled when I read the 
location notices on the monuments and saw 
no mention of my owner. Though I had no 
fondness for my liquor-selling master, still as 
a good moral beast my sense of justice was 
disturbed; and, too, with the acquisition of 
[66] 



ift^i- 



m^i 




i^M 



'Kl 






p^i^^%J 



'^•"fe^^l-i 



■,./tr/h/i.,/Ai' <riw<'v'v 



Satan, the Burro 

a competency I hoped for his reformation. 
But when I gave voice to my sentiments and 
proclaimed loudly, 'Rob not my master of 
his dues,' my only recognition was a volley of 
stones from Con Sullivan and Dutch Jake. 

"After sinking the ten feet necessary to 
hold the locations for one year, we all re- 
turned to Spokane. News of my discovery 
was heralded throughout the city, but the 
version gave me no credit for intelligence, 
explaining it on the low plane of animal in- 
stinct. It was stated that when the day's 
travel was over the burros were turned loose 
for forage, and that as the night was cold I 
wandered off seeking shelter and hid under 
some projecting rocks, and that the search 
for me brought them to the overhanging 
bluff where the ledge of ore could not help 
being seen. But even allowing this account 
to be correct, my master claimed that as I 
was part of the stakes put up for the pro- 
specting, and that as the discovery was due 
to where I was found, he was entitled to a 
[67] 



Smith of Bear City 

share in the ownership. 

"Meanwhile John Hays Hammond and 
Victor M. Clement had bonded the Bunker 
Hill and Sullivan mines to Reed of Portland 
for a million dollars from the original loca- 
tors as appeared on the book of records. My 
master secured an injunction forbidding the 
payment and distribution of the money until 
his rights to a share in the ownership were 
established. I longed for the day to come 
when the courts of our land should decide 
the status and property qualifications of bur- 
ros, hoping that it would make us more val- 
uable to men, — and incidentally secure more 
abundant rations. Unfortunately either old 
man Kellogg had pressing need for money, 
or he was afraid that my master's claim 
through me would be established, and so a 
settlement out of court was agreed upon. 
The Bunker Hill and Sullivan Mining and 
Concentrating Company was sold and incor- 
porated, with John Hays Hammond as presi- 
dent and Victor M. Clement as superinten- 
[68] 



Satan, the Burro 

dent. I saw both of these distinguished 
mining gentlemen on their first visit to 
Spokane. 

"I have often wondered if John Hays 
Hammond ever appreciated the part I played 
in his life. Had I not discovered the Bunker 
Hill and Sullivan mines which led to his 
being president of the consolidated property, 
would the Barnato brothers ever have heard 
of him and engaged him as consulting engi- 
neer in charge of their mines on the Rand ? 
Had he not gone to Africa he would not 
have been condemned to the gallows for his 
zealous advocacy of Anglo-Saxon domination 
and his fearless courage in resisting taxation 
without representation. My ledge of ore, I 
reckon, stood him in good stead when he had 
to pay the one hundred and twenty-five 
thousand dollars to escape the fifteen years' 
imprisonment to which the gallows was 
commuted. Had he not endured this terrible 
ordeal and escaped unharmed and his fame 
become world-wide, would his knowledge 
[69] 



Smith of Bear City 

and ability as one of the most trusted au- 
thorities on mining values have been recog- 
nized ? Good luck to him, and may his shadow 
never grow less, for he is one of the few of my 
acquaintances who never called me Satan." 



[70] 



Mother Corbett and her Table 



As we drove up to Mother Corbett s door 
at Snake River Crossing, Idaho, I saw my 
friend George L. Tracy hurriedly leaving the 
house. To be specific, Mother Corbett had 
gathered him up by the nape of the neck and 
the sweep of the breeches and was flinging 
him out of the door. It was evident what 
the trouble was ; we knew Mother Corbett s 
table, we knew Tracy's unguarded tongue. 
In an unhappy moment he had commented 
on the absence of the usual molasses for 
sweetening the coffee. 

To be driving up to Mother Corbett's 
door was proof positive that one needed a 
good square meal. It meant that one had 
been through miseries little dreamed of by 
those whose knowledge of overland coaches 
has been gained from Bill Cody's Wild West 
Show, or whose ideas of Indians have come 
from the peaceful specimens who discharge 
[71 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
firearms with harmless pleasantry at these 
same shows. It meant long weary days on the 
alkali plains and the sand wastes; it meant 
climbing precipitous mountains when the 
driver would shout, "All get out and give 
the horses a lift;" it meant the possibility 
of meeting Indians on the war-path and 
losing one's scalp; it might mean being put 
to the inconvenience of having to give one's 
money and valuables to "road-agents." If 
these troubles were weathered, the next thing 
in order was to pay a dollar to be served 
with a cold meal, save the pepper-sauce, — 
tough beef and rancid bacon, or perchance 
goat meat, and biscuits as hard as the rocks 
outside. 

Tracy had found some such meal placed 
before him ; had made a remark, and — went 
hungry, for Mother Corbett's ways were not 
disputed by her patrons. She was tall, rough, 
uncouth, of immense frame, equally expert 
in the use of fists, shot-gun or revolver, and 
declared that she was afraid of no one, male, 
[72] 



Mother Corbett and her Table 

female, white, black or Indian. 

Not all guests, however, left Mother Cor- 
bett's table hungry ; indeed, one might have 
quoted feelingly Shakespeare's words, "Either 
too much at once, or none at all." There was 
a whiskey drummer who seated himself one 
morning for breakfast at Mother Corbett's 
table. He was weary, cold and hungry, and in 
a condition in which wholesome food would 
have been thoroughly appreciated. The break- 
fast was brought on, — could he eat it? It 
seemed impossible, and in an unfortunate 
moment he characterized the beef as coming 
from the horns, the bacon as smelling to 
heaven, the biscuits as being as mysterious in 
their composition as the pyramids, and the 
coffee as having the aroma of his childhood's 
catnip. His more experienced fellow-travel- 
lers kept silent and trembled for the outcome, 
but to their great surprise Mother Corbett 
only smiled and seemed to take all in good 
part. But one can smile and smile and be a vil- 
lain still, as the poor man experienced when 
[73 J 



Smith of Bear City 
he handed his landlady a five-dollar gold piece 
and stood waiting for his change. 

" Have you not had your money's w^orth?" 
she asked, 

" I would n't write a ten-cent check for all 
I have had if I were worth a million dollars," 
replied the drummer, still unmindful of the 
snare he was laying for himself. 

"You shall have your money's worth if 
you have to wait over until the next stage. 
Sit down." 

He looked at Mother Corbett — he looked 
at her weapon, and thought best to obey. 

"Clean up that platter of bacon," com- 
manded ]M other Corbett, "and I'll see that 
you have more when that is gone. Empty 
that plate of pyramidal biscuits, and don't 
forget the catnip tea, — you may need it be- 
fore you have had your money's worth. Hurry 
up and pick the horns of that ox a little 
faster; we don't want you to miss the next 
stage, for you are too expensive a boarder to 
keep." 

[74] 



Mother Corbett and her Table 

The unhappy man made good headway for 
a season, but at length, when the Hmit seemed 
reached, he looked appealingly at Mother 
Corbett and said, "Dear Mother Corbett, I 
am sorry that I judged wrongly of your food 
when I was simply sampling it. Now that I 
have partaken generously I find it most sat- 
isfying, but I am no glutton. Please excuse 
me, for I have had my money's worth." 

"Eat," was the grim response, and the cock- 
ing of her revolver had a wonderfully stimu- 
lating effect on his appetite. It was only 
when the stage driver interceded and begged 
that the stage be no longer detained that the 
unfortunate man was released. 



[ 75 ] 



Gentle Annie 

IN one of those fortuitous lulls which some- 
times occur for an instant amid a din of 
conflicting noises, Annie s quick ear caught 
a distant sound; a shadow crossed her face 
and an indescribable look came into her eyes. 
In that second of time, with a drowning man's 
vision, she had seen other scenes, other faces, 
another kind of Sunday, another Annie. She 
saw herself picking a snowdrop and thinking 
how round and symmetrical and pure it was. 
Strange that the memory of that little flower, 
after lying dormant for fifteen years, should 
rise up to strike against her conscience ! But 
begone such spectres. Why look back? — 
business is good, the mines are booming, and 
the boys are flush. 

Charlie Baker, the gentlemanly proprietor 

of the Oasis Saloon, looked with satisfaction 

upon his green baize faro tables at which 

every seat was occupied and standing room 

[ 77 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

was being eagerly sought. A wild, uncouth 
crowd were placing heavy stakes on their 
favourite cards, and losing or winning with 
the quiet indifference of born gamblers. The 
wealth of smiles which Gentle Annie and 
her associate bar-maids lavished upon their 
patrons spoke still more eloquently of the 
richness of the mines and the liberality of the 
camp. Annie had been the belle of the bar 
from the moment of her arrival, and being 
then the first white woman in the camp had 
received the title of Gentle Annie in honour 
of her sex rather than in recognition of any 
special trait of character. 

Pizen Baker's title, on the contrary, was 
gained through sheer force of character, shall 
we call it, or was it a liberal supply of dare- 
deviltry ? Now Pizen Baker was the principal 
saloon-keeper of Bixby, and let us testify to 
his wonderful despatch, dexterity and gen- 
erosity in serving drinks and in dispensing 
good nature. 

When Bixby was young. Curly Bill and 
[78] 



Gentle Annie 

his desperate band of cow-boys from the San 
Simon district had tried to take the town 
during one of their wild drunken carousals. 
Sam Leslie, the terror of the camp, had been 
forced by Bill to run like a race-horse and 
had left the town without bag or baggage, 
never to return. But when Baker was ordered 
to take off his hat to the cow-boy king, his 
luminous black eyes flashed fire, and with a 
cool indifference to his peril he had puffed 
his cigar smoke into the tyrant's face, re- 
marking, " I can't do it, boss ; I might ketch 
cold." Bill glared savagely at this martial dis- 
penser of drinks and paused, as well he might 
before a man as desperate as himself. They 
both belonged to that class on the frontier 
who expect to die by the hand of their fel- 
low-man, and it mattered little when, so long 
as they were game to the end. Yes, for once 
Bill paused, and with a milder look in his 
eyes said: "I know a brave man when I see 
one. I respect a chap who is ready to close 
the deal any minute and who would rather 
[79] 



Smith of Bear City 

take lead pizen than whimper. Shake!" So 
the interview ended, and Charhe Baker had 
acquired the name of Pizen Baker, which 
clung to him thereafter as an heroic christen- 
ing in the baptism of fire. 

It was Sunday. The proprietor of the Oasis 
Saloon knew it and had offered profane 
thanks for the increased receipts which the 
leisure of that day invariably brought. The 
large hall was gay with gilding, pictures and 
mirrors, and was thronged with men who 
had drifted away from the restraints of family 
and society, religion and law, and in an 
eager, reckless struggle for gold had become 
strangely demoralized. 

The busy hum of voices ceased; and as the 
dealers were calling out, "Make your game, 
gentlemen," they were interrupted by a sud- 
den and general desire on the part of the 
players to get their chips cashed. Some one 
— no one knew who — had announced that 
Curly Bill and his San Simon band were 
nearing the camp. In an incredibly short 
[80] 



Gentle Annie 

time Baker and Annie found themselves 
alone, but undismayed by the news which 
had produced such general consternation. 
Thirstier and more dusty horsemen never 
rode. They cursed and raved as they passed 
this and that street and found the saloons 
closed and the dance-halls deserted. Though 
their pride might be fed by this mark of dis- 
tinction, they were too thirsty to find it sat- 
isfying. 

"Never give up," exclaimed their leader; 
"there is one more chance yet. I'll bet all 
the stock that wears horns against a prickly 
pear that Baker's shop will be open and that 
this blamed alkali won't stick long in our 
throats. Hooray! there's the old lad himself, 
with his face gleaming and his bottles full of 
the right kind of stuff." 

Before dismounting, the cow-boys fired a 
salute, partly in honour of Baker and their 
arrival and partly as an intimidation to real or 
fancied enemies. They were the model citizens 
of a democracy where the knife and pistol 
[81 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

were the accoutrements of social distinction. 

Curly Bill, the leader, was as ugly-look- 
ing a man as one might ever hope to meet, 
and he was proud of the distinction. His un- 
kempt red hair stood out in every direction 
in utter defiance of the civilizing sway of the 
comb. His face was wrinkled, freckled and 
seamed, all of which was gratifying to Bill, 
since thereby his frowns and scowls were 
rendered the more hideously compelling. 
Such a man was by divine right of force the 
central figure around whom gathered this 
desperate band of thieves and outlaws who 
regarded theft as frugality, highway robbery 
as speculation, and murder as an incidental 
concomitant of business methods, and against 
whom President Arthur later issued a pro- 
clamation making them outlaws, so that he 
who dared might kill them at sight. 

There they were, forty ruffians, without a 

country, and they hoped without a God. 

They robbed the citizens of the United States 

of their cattle, drove them across the border 

[82 ] 






^i #i&^^^ ' •il?!^. ;■ ^ 



w 










^?<r?^ 






life,.. <h;MS&i%j,_ 




^A^lau/9'ly tJiiAZi' i^.^n<)^,£^(3ot(f -<Mou^ 



Gentle Annie 

and sold them in the mining camps of Chi- 
huahua, Mexico, amusing the purchasers with 
graphic descriptions of the discomfitures of 
los Americanos. Then journeying westward 
to the state of Sonora, they raided Mexican 
herds, and through Jack Ringold, of Tomb- 
stone, Arizona, sold them to unscrupulous 
American stockmen and butchers, with no 
questions asked and no regrets for the plun- 
dered "Greasers." 

" Well, Charlie, glad to see you. If whis- 
key is still trumps, deal us the best in the 
deck. Come, Annie, jine us. Gad, I'm de- 
lighted to see a white woman. Seiioras are 
good enough in their way, — for I've got 
nothing agin anything that wears calico, — 
but it does a feller good to see a girl that 
ain't squatted on a sheepskin with a cussed 
black shawl hiding all her beauty, and exhal- 
ing garlic and chilli like a dobie on fire," ex- 
claimed Bill, doffing his hat and shaking 
hands cordially with his saloon friends. Then 
he continued: "Where are the rest of the 
[83] 



Smith of Bear City 
ladies? We'd be most happy to have them 
jine us in a social glass. Don't shake your 
head, Annie ; p'r'aps liquor did get the best 
of us last time we were here, and we might 
have scared the women with our guns keep- 
ing time to the music, but give us one more 
show and we'll be the nicest fellers that the 
ladies ever met at a fandango." 

"The ladies, you see, took a notion that 
you were like powder, harmless enough when 
there are no matches or caps about, but that 
whiskey sets you afire," replied Annie; "but," 
she continued, "I'll put you on your good 
behaviour, and if you don't disappoint me I 
think I can furnish ladies enough for the fan- 
dango to-morrow night. Now you will have 
to excuse me. Charlie and I have just set up 
housekeeping. We don't put on much style, 
— you can't cushion dry-goods boxes and 
palm them off for patent sofas and easy- 
chairs,— still I am doing a lot of fixing, and 
it all takes time. Good night, gentlemen." 
And Annie hastened to her home. 
[84] 



Gentle Annie 

Baker handled the bottles with the skill of 
an old practitioner, mixing the drinks with 
the solemn dignity befitting his important 
position: champagne, cognac, whiskey, gin, 
mescal and lager followed each other with a 
rapidity which might have resulted in serious 
intoxication were it not for the wonderfully 
bracing atmosphere which the venders of 
spirits in that favoured land have sagaciously 
claimed as an antidote for inebriation. Be that 
as it may, glasses were rapidly filled only to 
be more rapidly emptied. Stories were told 
of their wild life and latest adventures. The 
lavishness with which money was thrown 
down after each libation — large bills and 
gold pieces, with no change asked for or ex- 
pected — was convincing proof of the suc- 
cess which had attended their recent raids. 

But drinking alone did not satisfy their 
gay propensities. In despair Bill turned to 
Baker and remarked: "Charlie, can't you 
place us in the way of some sport? We don't 
care to spend the night chasing coyotes or 
[85] 



Smith of Bear City 

rounding up cattle. We want a blow-out, and 
we don't care what 'tis, if we can only have 
a heap of fun." 

"Well," replied the bar-keeper, "do you 
want an entire change of base ? How about 
the gospel shop? There is a chap fresh from 
the States — wears a plug hat, a bad sign, 
I '11 allow — who holds forth to-night, and 
me and my friends are all invited. If he is 
looking for sinners in particular and frailties 
in general, he can't be far from headquar- 
ters. I reckon that rounding up souls here 
in Bixby is rather uphill work, — sorter like 
working a prospect that runs an ounce of 
gold to ten tons of granite. Perhaps that's 
the reason the boys have n't staked off many 
claims near his lode. Of course I 've got no- 
thing in common with a feller that don't gam- 
ble nor cuss nor chaw tobacco, but I 've got 
nothin' against him but his all-fired loud 
voice which gives Annie and me free preach- 
ing and prayers and gets Annie to thinking 
about Indiany." 

[86] 



Gentle Annie 

In spite of Baker's manner and language, 
there was a tell-tale look in his eyes which 
showed that the eternal spark, although it 
had never been fed, was still alive. 

He seemed not to hear Bill's response, and 
continued: "Parsons and I don't browse on 
the same range ; he 's on the dead line out 
here. I 'd just like to form an emigration so- 
ciety for his benefit. What does he mean by 
defying Arizona by wearing a plug hat? Of 
course he 'd like to round us all up, but he 
won't lariat a single one of the San Simon 
boys, and its bad for Bixby to have the med- 
dler round." 

"I say. Baker," interrupted Bill, "it would 
be a nice little lark for the boys to help him 
to some more remote parish. What do you 
say? Good night." 

"But I say. Bill, don't abuse him for not 
having had your chances, nor be hard on him 
because he can't string a line at keno. If he 
wants any more change on the journey just 
make the pot a good one and call on me, and 
[87 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

I'll ante to the full limit. Good night." 

They passed through a narrow street lined 
with low- walled adobe houses, stores and sa- 
loons ; beyond these were numerous tents on 
the hillsides, and dug-outs, with an occasional 
frame cabin sprinkled in, and all located with 
little regard to the right of eminent domain. 
Still farther on, amid a clump of sword-grass 
and cacti, stood the church, with its spire 
pointing heavenward as a tribute to the he- 
roic devotion which shrinks not from arid 
sands and forbidding wastes in the service of 
God and man, — one of the frontier churches 
which even to keep alive means a life of 
weary patience and discouragement, little ap- 
preciated by the comfortably housed Eastern 
congregation. 

The church building gave ample evidence 
of the financial difficulties attending its con- 
struction, with its rude settees and its plat- 
form and pulpit formed from boxes but little 
disguised with paint. The congregation did 
not exceed the number necessary for the sav- 
[88] 



Gentle Annie 

ing of the ancient city of the plains. 

The pale young preacher paused at the un- 
wonted sound of heavy spurs rattling on the 
church floor as their owners reeled into the 
seats. Their gaily fringed suits of buckskin, 
their tasselled sombreros, their gait, the slang 
which was frequently interspersed, showed 
their occupation, while the savage look of the 
leader at once convinced the speaker that he 
was to address an audience whose pressing 
business engagements rarely permitted atten- 
dance at church. He intuitively knew that it 
was no auspicious moment, but that this was 
the Curly Bill band of cow-boys who would 
gladly wipe out every vestige of civilization 
and religion, and that they were now present 
for malign purposes and to gratify evil pro- 
pensities. 

Perhaps an experienced frontiersman might 
have been wily enough to avert a scene, but 
not this young enthusiast, who had not been 
trained in the school of policy. He had the 
harmlessness of the dove, but not the wis- 
[89] 



Smith of Bear City 

dom of the serpent. Be consequences what 
they might, he determined to speak the truth 
about such a kind of Hfe and picture its 
just end. With a clear and calm voice he 
announced his text: "Except ye repent, ye 
shall all likewise perish." With scathing de- 
nunciation he pictured the crimes which had 
been committed. His auditors, astonished at 
the young man's audacity, maintained a sul- 
len silence. With fervid eloquence he foretold 
the retribution which awaited those who 
lived on the plunder of honest industry. The 
sermon was nearly finished when the in- 
tended interruption was made by Bill. 

"I hope there won't be any hard feelings 
on your part, parson, but we don't propose 
to have one man do all the dealing in this 
game. Damnation is your right bower, but 
we hold the joker and propose to take the 
next trick. A little music would now be in 
order ; make your own selection if it ain't too 
slow and solemn." 

A painful silence followed. Bill's revolver 
[90] 



I 



Gentle Annie 

must have looked as large as a cannon, as 
all will agree who have ever been covered 
by a revolver in the hand of a desperado. 
Mr. Gray's courage was still strong, and he 
did not propose to surrender. 

"Sir," he responded, "while I have no ob- 
jection to lively music, I cannot allow this 
house of God to be desecrated by levity or 
profaned by wicked tongues." 

"The sooner you quit this nonsense the 
better," began Bill. "We are now running 
this circuit ; you can set up your pins on the 
other alley after we have gone, and preach 
to your quaking brethren who have sneaked 
off and left you to play a lone hand. This 
old 'navy' sings one tune, dances one jig, 
preaches one sermon, and it don't take it long 
to cover the distance to a death, and an off 
wind will set it going. Start right in and 
sing." 

There was a fierce, determined look in Bill's 
face which brooked no further opposition. 
The minister's choice unquestionably lay be- 
[91 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

tween a song or death, and he selected the 
former. Deserted by his church, threatened, 
ridiculed and derided by a ruthless mob, the 
occasion was not auspicious for melodious 
song. There was no music in his husky voice, 
and as the tune seemed to embrace but one 
note of the scale, varied with slight degrees 
of stress according to the direction in which 
Bill waved his revolver, the audience soon 
wearied of the programme and desired a 
change. The minister was singing the third 
stanza of "Hold the Fort" when Bill an- 
nounced: "You'll never hold the fort with 
such singing as that. I believe your strong 
point is dancing. Come, start in." 

" I should be glad to dance, brother, if I 
only knew how," replied the minister. 

"Strange you haven't improved your op- 
portunities. There is dancing most every 
night in Bixby, fifty cents a dance for self 
and girl, with drinks thrown in. But never 
mind, I '11 furnish music if you will furnish 
legs." 

[ 92 ] 



Gentle Annie 

The minister stood motionless and dis- 
mayed, until Bill resumed, " I '11 begin the 
tune once more;" and pointing his Colt's 
"navy" added, "Kick fast if you can't do any- 
thing more." 

The tune was lively and loud, and all the 
cow-boys joined their leader in keeping time 
with their feet. The minister hopped up and 
down rapidly while the perspiration rolled 
down his face in great drops. At last Bill 
called a halt and announced that the show 
would end with one more act. Walking up 
to Mr. Gray, this merciless tormentor con- 
tinued, "Now, parson, you've shown your- 
self such a willing and teachable cuss, I think 
you ought to improve in one more particular. 
You are behind the times in your sermons; 
we want Bixby to keep right up to high-water 
mark. You 've got to fall in line and take 
back all the nonsense of your sermon, and 
preach for the heavenly welfare of us cattle 
men and put us fellers into the band wagon 
for kingdom come." 

[93] 



Smith of Bear City 

Mr. Gray boldly refused to deny the eter- 
nal truths. He could die, but he could not 
recant and renounce the doctrines which he 
regarded as more vital than life. Threats 
failed. The stubbornness was becoming un- 
bearable to these lawless men, whose wills 
were not accustomed to being thwarted and 
who looked upon the extinction of life as 
lightly as the snuffing of a candle. Twice the 
revolver was slowly raised and carefully 
aimed, — those minutes seemed hours to the 
pale, ethereal-looking minister ; twice it was 
lowered in admiration of this fearless priest, 
who trusted his God and bade them defiance. 

"Parson," said the leader more gently, "the 
laws which you have appealed to are power- 
less. The Deity which you trust in has ceased 
to do business in Arizony, and if you will 
promise to quit this region now and forever, 
every man of us will chip in and give you a 
stake that will land you in style in a far 
country." 

The minister saw his wife and little ones, 
[ 94 J 



i 



Gentle Annie 

pinched and threadbare ; he saw a pleasanter 
home among congenial friends; he saw, too, 
the Lord on the lonely mount, almost debat- 
ing whether by one act to bring the king- 
doms to his feet. 

"Gentlemen," was the quiet response, "I 
was sent here by God's people to do His 
work ; when He calls me away, I will leave." 

"Take your choice: leave these quarters, 
or join our band and leave your bones to 
whiten on the desert. Rope him, boys. I de- 
clare this is too much like week-day busi- 
ness. I always believe in having a change on 
Sunday." 

II 
Through the rich purplish haze of an Arizona 
twilight could be seen the bleak, sombre 
mountains raising their basaltic peaks like 
weird impregnable battlements for the pro- 
tection of the precious metals buried deep 
below. Around the foot-hills the Saguaros 
rose like watchful sentinels, guarding the long 
silent sleep of the early pioneers who had 
[95] 



Smith of Bear City 

perished in their weary search for gold and 
water. The scarlet blossoms of the cacti 
crowned the desolate sands with a rare beauty 
that concealed their barrenness. The delicious 
cool evening air, fresh from the dry, high 
plains, seemed almost oppressive to Charlie 
Baker as he walked toward his cabin, so really 
does the mental atmosphere mingle itself 
with the air we breathe. 

"Confound the preacher," soliloquized 
Baker; "gospel don't mix well with my busi- 
ness, and why should I mix with his. It was 
rather mean of me to send those cold-blooded 
villains to bother him, but they surely won't 
harm him, and perhaps they will relieve the 
monotony a little. Still I do feel shaky for 
him. But if worse comes to worse, what is 
his life or any man's worth, — a few feet 
above the earth, or a few feet below — what 
does it matter? But this will never do for 
me. I hope Annie will be cheerful." 

He had reached a rude frame building, and 
opening the door entered. The unseasoned 
[96] 



Gentle Annie 

timbers of the hastily constructed walls had 
warped and furnished more ventilation than 
warmth. The furniture was scant and poor, 
not necessarily indicative of poverty, but 
rather of the sudden growth of a town re- 
mote from markets. 

"Yes, I belong to the ranks of the outcast; 
if an unlawful home is so pleasant, what 
would it be to have a true one?" were Annie's 
thoughts as she awaited Charlie's return. 

Baker had scarcely crossed the threshold 
when Annie was by his side, greeting him 
affectionately. She was still young, though 
late hours and the dissipation of her wild life 
had imprinted deep wrinkles on her forehead. 

" I am awfully glad you 've come, I 've been 
afraid harm would get the drop on you. Bill 
is not the chap to forget that you were the 
only man in Bixby who refused to take off 
your hat to him. He may swear friendship 
and greet you smilingly, but the next minute 
his baffled pride might lead him to put you 
where he has sent many another man. I don't 
[97] 



Smith of Bear City 

know what makes me so nervous to-night. 
There may be a tough deal ahead of us in the 
shifting of the scenes. A whiskey dealer and 
a dance-hall bar-maid living together but not 
in the law would make the old folks in In- 
diana rather 'shamed and sad, wouldn't it? I 
tell you, Charlie, I'd rather flee with you to 
the solitudes of the desert, or seek a home 
amid the rocky cliffs of the mountains, and 
be honest and decent, than to live here and 
be what we are!" She buried her face on his 
shoulder, and no sounds broke the stillness 
save the ticking of the clock and a woman's 
sobs. 

Ill 
The train arrived — not the one borne on rails 
by the rush of steam and the whirl of wheels, 
but the frontier train, drawn by weary, heav- 
ily laden mules, slowly but surely transport- 
ing supplies and occasionally carrying passen- 
gers who were too poor to pay the high rates 
of the overland stage company. The town 
was astir again. Those who were not expect- 
[98] 



Gentle Annie 

ing supplies or friends watched from doors 
and windows to see what fortune befell their 
neighbours. 

" Charlie, look ! one of these passengers is a 
woman carrying a baby and leading another 
little child. There is Doc Holliday pointing 
toward our house or Mr. Gray's. Perhaps the 
parson's family has come." 

While Annie spoke, the mother and chil- 
dren were coming nearer, and she could be 
heard cheering the tired little boy with the 
hope of soon seeing his papa. 

"Annie, I reckon the cow-boys are mak- 
ing trouble at the church ; I hear a stamping 
and a noise like scuffling. If the woman and 
children are his — Well, is it the Parson Gray 
you want? Just walk right in and make your- 
selves comfortable. Mr. Gray lives just be- 
yond us, but he is not at home now. I '11 go 
and find him, and bring him to you," pro- 
mised Baker. 

The weary mother expressed thanks in her 
face, but was too much occupied with attend- 
[99] 

tore. 



Smith of Bear City 

ing to the children to notice that before leav- 
ing Baker carefully examined his revolver 
with the air of one who expected to need it. 
Having satisfied himself that it was all right, 
he cast a hasty glance at Annie and was gone. 

There was a touching tenderness of tone 
and a delicate kindness of manner as Annie 
placed cool water, bread and milk on the 
table for her guests; then asking to be ex- 
cused for a few minutes, she left the house 
and ran after Baker. 

For a moment Baker halted outside the 
church. He realized the situation at a glance, 
and inwardly commented, "It ain't particu- 
larly convenient for me to leave just now, 
but I reckon I 'm one of the chaps that the 
world can spare most any time ; the come- 
out on t' other side can't be any worse than 
tending bar in Bixby, and I can't strike any 
worse company than I am used to here. All 
I 've got I stake for a friendless stranger in 
a God-forsaken land. I '11 give those scoun- 
drels a talking to and if that don't save him, 
[ 100] 



Gentle Annie 

the coroner will have a job mighty quick," 
and undaunted he walked into the church. 

"Take that rope off, Bill. That man's wife 
and little chaps are here, and they have come 
all the way across these sands and dreary 
mountains, amid the hot trail of the Apaches, 
and they are not going to find the one they 
have come to meet lassoed like an ox. Come, 
boys, let every fellow who won't go back on 
the home of his childhood help restore this 
man to his loved ones." 

The rough, savage band of outlaws paused 
as if a spell had changed their purpose, and 
stood with lowered heads as if ashamed of 
their cruel conduct — so many men pitted 
against one lone unarmed man! But there 
was a dangerous glitter in their leader's 
wicked eyes which seemed to say, "We'll 
have the question of supremacy settled at 
once and forever," and with his whole body 
shaking with the violence of his rage, he 
shouted fiercely, "Liar, vagabond, coward! 
Do you still think you can trifle with the 
[101 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

brave boys of the San Simon ? I have no time 
to listen to the drunken tales of a bar-room 
scullion. If you are spiling for a fight, you 11 
get one sure." 

There was a crack of revolvers, followed by 
a woman's shriek and a general scattering. 
When the smoke had cleared away, there on 
the floor in front of the preacher lay Bill se- 
verely wounded,* while clinging to Baker 
was Annie, profusely bleeding, — but she had 
saved him whom she loved. 

They bore her gently home. A physician 
was summoned, but her wounds were mor- 
tal. The night dragged slowly, replete with 
pain for the wounded, and anguish for the 
watchers. 

"Charlie," the dying woman at length ex- 
claimed, "it is rather late, but what name 
shall mark my last resting-place?" 

A messenger was despatched to the par- 
sonage, and in the stillness of death the mar- 

* Curly Bill recovered, and was afterwards killed by one of 
his Jollowers in a fond at Charlestown, Arizona. 

[ 102 ] 



Gentle Annie 

riage ceremony was performed just as the 
faint streaks of light were heralding the dawn. 
The newly made bride drew her husband 
gently down to her, and whispered, " Charlie, 
I am almost across the weary desert; I see 
the camp-fires of those who rest by the Great 
River." 



[ 103 ] 



The Queen of the Bull- Whackers 



OHE was a huge, raw-boned, muscular wo- 
man, homely enough to excite pity ; as un- 
tidy as a Sioux squaw and as fond of chew- 
ing tobacco as any woman is of drinking her 
tea, — every inch a queen if these be our 
standards. Such was Mother Jurgenson, and 
she was the only woman who ever drove a 
bull team hauling freight for pay; perhaps 
this is the reason why she was called Queen. 
Nearly all of the freight shipped into the 
Black Hills before the advent of the railroad 
was hauled by bull teams. Certainly no more 
forlorn and pitiable looking animals were 
ever seen on the face of the earth. The ani- 
mals grazed their own subsistence when they 
should have been resting, and could thus 
transport goods for much less cost than horses 
and mules that had to be fed. When the 
grass was short the poor animals were al- 
most starved, and it required all the encour- 
[ 105] 



Smith of Bear City 

agement of those cruel black-snake whips to 
keep them moving and pulling their share of 
the heavily laden wagons. The drivers were 
of the lowest order of humanity, dirty, rough 
and cruel. 

Now, as I said, Mother Jurgenson drove a 
bull team, and Mother Jurgenson's husband 
also drove a bull team. He was no handsomer 
than she, and only more cleanly because, not 
having her inches, there was less space to be 
grimy. He had moods when it was his most 
agreeable pastime to beat the partner of his 
daily toils. She must originally have belonged 
to that class of peasantry in Europe who, 
travellers tell us, are trained to believe in the 
supremacy of man, and that it is a husband's 
privilege as well as duty to chastise his wife. 
At times the other bull-whackers had noticed 
a dangerous gleam in JMother Jurgenson's 
eyes when, at the close of a hard day's work, 
her husband had whipped her. 

On the arrival of the teams in Deadwood, 
Jurgenson would slip off to the saloon and 
[ 106] 



The Queen of the Bull- Whackers 
leave his wife to unload the freight from his 
wagon as well as her own. Occasionally when 
very heavy lifting was required, Jurgenson, 
between drinks, would give his wife valuable 
advice or hurry her with the work. 

One evening, after a very wearisome day's 
work. Mother Jurgenson was slower than 
usual about the final unloading. Jurgenson 
concluded that a little conjugal discipline 
might quicken her movements, but as it hap- 
pened, he struck her just one too many times ; 
like a tigress she sprang upon him and rained 
blow upon blow and fairly wiped the earth 
with him, while the crowd cheered her on. 
Jurgenson's astonishment was soon followed 
by pleas for mercy, but mercy was not for him. 
Finally, from sheer exhaustion, she ceased, 
and gathering what remained of her liege lord, 
and holding him at arm's length, said: "Old 
man, henceforth I'm boss; you play me for 
meeks again and I'll break every bone in your 
cowardly body." 

After this there was a gi*eat change in the 
[ 107 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

financial condition of the Jurgenson family. 
Mother Jurgenson collected all the freight 
bills; she allowed her husband a limited al- 
lowance to spend in the saloons, while she 
unloaded the freight, bought needed supplies 
and did the banking. When all the business 
was transacted, and she was ready to start 
on the overland trip, she would go to the 
saloon where Jurgenson had been enjoying 
himself as best he could on his now limited 
means, and say, "Come, old man, git a move 
on you ;" and he would go at once to his place 
and drive his bull team right behind hers. She 
saved money and bought a good ranch, and is 
now among the prosperous farmers of Dakota. 
The last time that I saw Mother Jurgen- 
son was from the overland coach which ran 
from Deadwood to the terminus of the rail- 
road. There were seven passengers on the 
outside of the coach, and a little while after 
our departure we sighted Mother J urgenson's 
gaunt form in the distance driving her bull 
team. We agreed to doff our hats and bow 
[ 108] 



The Queen of the Bull- Whackers 
politely and say, "Good morning, madam," 
as the driver slowed up the coach in pass- 
ing her. This we did. The Queen stopped 
a moment, looked us squarely in the face, 
squirted tobacco juice about a rod, and said, 
"Hello, boys;" then gathering up her long 
black-snake whip, she let it descend with a 
crash that sounded like artillery, and yelled, 
"Git up, Jericho, you old bull; what do you 
care about seeing dudes!" 



[ 109 ] 



The Evolution of Clay Allison 



I 

The Desperate Man of the Plains 

v^LAY Allison was a wealthy cattle owner 
whose herds roamed over southern Colorado 
and New Mexico. He was the autocrat of the 
plains. No man dared dispute his rights or 
make reflections on any of his proceedings 
unless prepared at sight to fight the duel 
unto death. 

Chutt was another cattle king, who lived 
farther south, who was also very proud of his 
reputation as a man-killer. He once alluded 
to Allison as a wolf among sheep, but a cow- 
ardly coyote among men of spirit, which he 
was prepared to maintain. Kind friends re- 
peated to Allison the neighbourly allegations, 
and were commissioned to take back the 
message that Chutt was like a skunk, to be 
avoided at all times, and that he also was pre- 
pared to maintain this position and dispose 
[111 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

of Chutt as a nuisance. 

On the old Santa Fe trail at the Red River 
crossing there was a stage station where meals 
were served. Allison and Chutt unexpectedly 
met there. They agreed to settle the question 
of championship then and there by being 
placed at one hundred paces, advancing on 
each other and shooting until the best man 
won. As the distance was being measured 
the dinner-bell rang, and Chutt proposed 
that they eat dinner first and have their fun 
afterwards. Allison assented. They sat down 
at opposite sides of the same table. The soup 
was brought in. As Allison picked up a spoon 
Chutt thought that the opportunity had come 
and he thrust one hand into his holster. But 
when Allison sat down to the table he had 
removed a derringer from an inside pocket to 
his lap, and this being more accessible he got 
the first shot and Chutt fell mortally wounded 
as the ball from his pistol entered the opposite 
wall. Allison assured himself that his foe was 
dead, and seeing that all the others had fled 
[ 112 ] 



The Evolution of Clay Allison 

he seized the dinner-bell and going to the out- 
side door rang it furiously. He then told the 
waiter that he was through with the fii'st 
course and would like the second. 

II 

The Beau of the Bail-Room 
" I '11 bid adieu to cattle and the plains, to the 
saddle and the horse, to duels and shooting, 
and refresh myself in the social dance." So 
thought Clay Allison. The fates were think- 
ing otherwise. The sheriff and the deputy 
were likewise thinking otherwise. He talked 
and laughed and drank and danced. They 
watched and calculated and planned and 
decided. They moved to arrest him and on 
the instant he was the fierce desperado of the 
plains. Both officers fell, and Allison escaped 

unharmed. 

Ill 

The DnmJcen Autocrat 
Frank Riggs was a whiskey drummer, and 
had just alighted from the train at Las An- 
imas, Colorado, and was carrying his valise 
[113] 



Smith of Bear City 

over to the hotel when he met Mr. Alhson, 
whom he bade a pleasant good morning, and 
all unknowing that Allison had had too much 
whiskey to make remarks safe, added, "That 's 
a fine horse you have." 

"Fine horse," exclaimed Allison; "you 
don't put it half strong enough. I '11 bet that 
horse can kick your hat off; come here and 
see. 

Riggs's wits worked at lightning speed. He 
remembered that the saloon-keepers were in 
the habit of closing their shops on the ap- 
proach of Allison, and it was probable that 
Allison was not able to get a drop of liquor 
at that moment. He had the key to the situa- 
tion and said unconcernedly, "I'll take your 
word as to what your horse can do, but what 
troubles me is the dryness of this place. Come 
and join me and we will see if there is n't a 
drink to be had." 

Nothing could have been more in line with 
Allison's own wishes, but he said, "You are 
not going to commit a burglary, are you?" 
[ 114] 



The Evolution of Clay Allison 

"Better way than that. Lariat your horse, 
and follow me. I'll just leave my traps here," 
replied the salesman. 

Riggs went to the back door of a saloon 
owned by one of his customers and knocked 
at the door. No answer. He could hear the 
clink of glasses and called out, "Bill, let me 
in, your old friend Riggs, the whiskey drum- 
mer." 

Bill opened the door and in walked Riggs 
and Allison, to the consternation of Bill. "It's 
my treat," said Riggs; "let every man in the 
house drink to the health of my friend Alli- 
son." Riggs handed a five-dollar bill to the 
bar-tender, saying, "You can give me the 
change when I get back; I have left my things 
outside." 

Riggs seized his luggage and rushed to 
the station just in time to catch a freight train 
which followed the passenger train he had 
come in on. 

" When I got into the caboose," Riggs told 
me afterwards, "and felt the wheels moving, 
[ 115] 



Smith of Bear City 
and could see Las Animas slowly receding 
from view, I said to myself, 'You'll never 
want change badly enough to stop and get 
it at Las Animas.'" And he never did. 

I barely escaped myself having to pay 
forced tribute to the imperious autocrat. I 
was walking from the States Hotel at El 
Moro, Colorado, when that was the terminus 
of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Rail- 
road, to the store of Otero, Sellar & Co., when 
some distance ahead I saw a commanding 
figure on horseback, gun in hand. I learned 
from a passer-by that it was our former ac- 
quaintance. Clay Allison, and that no one 
passed that gun without doffing his hat to its 
owner. I concluded to return to the hotel. 

Gillie Otero (Miguel A. Otero, who later 
made one of the best governors New Mexico 
ever had) was at this time a young man con- 
nected with Otero, Sellar & Co. On the day 
in question he and three friends were having 
a social game of cards over Harrington's sa- 
loon when Allison entered and began amus- 
[116] 



The Evolution of Clay Allison 

ing himself by shooting through the ceihng. 
"I was holding rather poor cards," said 
Gillie, "and I did n't mind quitting the game, 
but for four of us to be standing on the top of 
the stove and dodging bullets was not much 
recreation." 

IV 
The Tender Father 
Years passed, and I was again in that West- 
ern country. The genial proprietor of the 
Grand Central Hotel in Denver, Mr. David 
Gage, introduced me to a quiet, polite gen- 
tleman by the name of Allison. He had come 
in bringing a crippled child. Was it possible 
that the Clay Allison I had known could 
carry a child so tenderly and caress it so 
lovingly? It was indeed the same man, and 
yet not the same. He had come to Denver 
hoping that an operation would cure his child, 
but found that it could not be, and went back 
to his home, fearing that the curse of God 
rested upon him. He was a quiet, sober, law- 
abiding citizen, and we should like to record 
[ 117 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
a pleasant ending to his life, but unfortu- 
nately he was thrown from his wagon, break- 
ing his neck. He was mourned as a saint by 
his wife and child. 



[118] 



A Trip through New Mexico 



1 EOPLE whose travelling experiences have 
been confined to parlor cars and common 
coaches perhaps do not realize how primitive 
and how perilous was travelling in some parts 
of our country even so late as the early eigh- 
ties. Indeed so dangerous was a journey south 
and west from the terminus of the Santa Fe 
Railroad in the winter of 1881 that unless 
urged by imperative reasons such journeys 
were usually abandoned, the accounts of daily 
scalpings by Indians being a little too real- 
istic even for the most ardent seekers after 
adventure. 

I was compelled to take this journey, and 
in the caboose attached to the construction 
train I found a small band of determined- 
looking men all armed to the fullest possible 
extent, save one fine-looking gentleman, who 
wore a silk hat, — the first one to be tolerated 
in New Mexico without a few shots being 
[ 119] 



Smith of Bear City 

taken at it, — and whose only weapon was a 
silk umbrella, for other use it could hardly 
have had in that rainless country. 

I had made the gentleman's acquaintance 
the evening before, and on entering the car 
at El Moro he invited me to share the two 
seats he had appropriated. His name was 
William H. Stilwell. He had been recently 
appointed associate judge for the Territory of 
Arizona, and was on his way to his new offi- 
cial duties. One of the passengers was "Bat" 
Masterson. Bat had been sheriff of Ford 
County, Kansas, and ea^ officio had acted as 
city marshal of that most strenuous border 
town of the old cattle trail. Dodge City. He 
was a fearless officer and was one of the 
"wheel horses" in the killing brigade, stand- 
ing in the front ranks among such game men 
as Doc Holiday, the Earp brothers, Luke 
Short and the other famous Dodge City man- 
hunters. But Masterson should not be classed 
with the really "bad" men of the frontier. 
He never attempted "the shooting up of 
[ 120 ] 



A Trip through New Mexico 
towns," was never insulting in language or 
conduct in his dealings with the law and or- 
der classes, and never acted as a bully or 
a ruffian. He "planted" his victims as regu- 
larly as a farmer would his crops, but all was 
done in his official capacity, and I never heard 
of any shedding of tears over the graves that 
he knew so well how to fill. So I was glad 
that we were to have such a redoubtable com- 
panion on our journey. I introduced him to 
Judge Stilwell, and was relieved that Mas- 
terson greeted him most cordially in spite 
of the silk hat. 

There were nine of us who took the over- 
land coach at the railroad terminus. The night 
was cold and we all wanted to occupy in- 
side seats for the first few hours. We had 
been offered an escort of two negro soldiers 
to occupy the best outside seats, but we pre- 
ferred to retain them for ourselves, and to 
depend upon our own men in case of attack 
by Indians. The Apaches when unpursued al- 
ways made their attacks near sunrise or sun- 
[ 121 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
set; we were thus free from fear for the first 
part of the journey and beguiled the time 
by telUng Indian stories. Our friend with the 
silk hat became more and more anxious. Until 
that evening he had had wholly Eastern ideas 
of the wronged red man driven to warfare, 
but he was fast beginning to feel that how- 
ever peaceful his intent, the only safety was 
in distance. 

About an hour before daybreak the ques- 
tion of position for our defence was discussed. 
By common consent, Masterson was given 
the seat beside the driver as our best fight- 
ing man. I drew second choice and selected 
the dickey seat above and behind the driver. 
The three other outside seats were also de- 
cided by lot. The judge, having no weapons, 
was not allowed a choice. He had already 
manifested much uneasiness over the situa- 
tion and hinted to Masterson, who carried a 
Sharp's rifle and two Colt " navy revolvers," 
that if he had more guns than he could use he 
would relieve him of one. Bat replied most 
[ 122 ] 



A Trip through New Mexico 

courteously that he would gladly loan the 
judge one of the revolvers if later he found 
that he could not handle them all to his better 
protection. 

Our worst fears seemed about to be real- 
ized when in the distance we espied what ap- 
peared to be a large band of Apaches. The 
suspense of the next few minutes was be- 
coming almost unendurable when the enemy 
proved to be the tall soapweeds of the plains. 
Examination of the trails that we crossed 
showed that they were "cold," for one soon 
learns to detect a fresh or "hot" trail. 

We arrived late in the afternoon at the old 
town of Deming, New INIexico, seven miles 
east of the present town, it being the terminus 
of the Southern Pacific Railroad. The place 
consisted of several drinking and gambling 
saloons in tents, and a box freight car which 
was used as an eating-house for the railroad 
men employed in the construction depart- 
ment; travellers from the overland coaches 
were also entertained there. The table accom- 
[ 123 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
modations were very limited, and when sup- 
per was announced Judge Stilwell and two 
telegraph operators whom he had invited to 
supper took seats. The railroad men resented 
their places being taken by outsiders, and one 
of their number, pointing to Judge Stilwell, 
said in a loud voice, " See that long, lank cuss 
fresh from New York just filling himself as 
though he had been through a famine, while 
we railroad boys have to wait." 

Masterson, in great wrath and with resound- 
ing oaths, resented this insult to his new 
friend, and ended with, "Buffum, you just 
take the first vacant seat and let these sons 
of the burro wait." 

The railroad men looked at one another, 
they looked at Masterson, they looked at his 
Sharp's rifle and his two Colt's revolvers, they 
saw his determined face as he glowered at 
them, and their appetites fled before that ter- 
rible presence; not a man moved when the 
first chair was vacated, and I seated myself. 
The "I am sorry, gentlemen, to have kept 
[ 124] 



A Trip through New Mexico 

you waiting, but I was very hungry," of 
Judge Stilwell as he left the table was per- 
haps equally calming and reassured them as 
to their judge. While each was waiting for 
the other to take the place, Masterson stalked 
to the front, saying, "No disrespect to you, 
Judge, but I'll take your seat myself." 

After we had finished supper. Judge Stil- 
well took me aside and said, " What is there 
about me that causes so many men to know 
that I am from New York, and that calls out so 
many remarks that are far from flattering?" 

"A boiled shirt we sometimes see," I re- 
plied, "but a silk hat is never seen save on 
a stranger's first trip, and one or two shots 
at it are generally sufficient. Then, too, a silk 
umbrella is suggestive of a refinement in 
dress for which it were better to substitute 
a weapon in order to maintain equal social 
privileges." 

In honour of the judge the railroad man- 
agement placed on the construction train a 
poor old passenger coach as his special car, 
[ 125] 



Smith of Bear City 

which Masterson and I were invited to share. 

As soon as the judge's trunk was put on 
board, he opened it, took out his felt hat and 
asked what he should do with the supei'flu- 
ous article. I suggested giving it to the brake- 
man, and though the latter accepted it with 
thanks, I never saw a more confused re- 
cipient of a gift. At last he said that as the 
citizens of Arizona had never seen anything 
so swell, he would nail it to the head of the 
caboose where all would have an equal op- 
portunity of viewing it. The next day when 
the train was coming into Wilcox, and some 
cow-boys began shooting at it, the judge re- 
marked, " I am rather glad that I am not un- 
derneath that hat." 

When we arrived at Benson, where Master- 
son was to leave us to go to Tombstone to 
serve as deputy city marshal, he came up to 
Judge Stilwell and said, "Judge, I am proud 
to know you. You may have a red-hot bench 
to sit on in Tombstone, as the boys are pretty 
handy with their guns. But if you ever want 
[ 126 ] 



A Trip through New Mexico 

a pard that will see you through, just call on 
me ; and if I ever get into any trouble and 
am fetched up in your court, I want to know 
that I have a friend in the boss." 

Judge Stilwell, not wishing to enter upon 
his official duties bound by any pledges, re- 
plied: "I trust, Mr. Masterson, that you will 
never be brought into my court against your 
wiU." 

*' Thank you, Judge, I hope not ; but I may 
have to do a little killing, and things may 
happen which will make us powerful glad that 
we know each other," and Masterson shook 
the judge warmly by the hand. 

Later in his official position at Tombstone, 
Judge Stilwell met Masterson as an officer 
of his court. A deadly feud existed between 
two bands and many men were killed, and 
when there seemed danger of duels even in 
court, the judge was glad to call upon IMas- 
terson to see that no one came into court 
armed, which instruction was faithfully car- 
ried out. 

[ 127 ] 






Reminiscences of Frontier Hotels 
and their Proprietors 



In the East, and in later days especially, our 
acquaintance with hotels does not necessarily 
nor commonly include an acquaintance with 
their proprietors. We may connect a delicious 
roll with the Parker House, or a certain pud- 
ding with Delmonico's, but the proprietors 
of these restaurants probably do not figure 
in our memory. It was otherwise in frontier 
days in the West. The various places where 
we stopped in the old stage-coach days for 
refreshment (the word seems ill chosen so 
little were we refreshed at some of these 
places) were invariably associated with the 
master or mistress of the eating-station. Yes, 
"Las Vegas Hot Springs," and what im- 
mediately flashes through my mind? — who 
but Minnie Moore? To most people familiar 
with mines, "Minnie Moore" represents the 
name of a well-known mine; but to me 
[ 129 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
"Minnie Moore" brings back the rustle of 
silk, a flash of diamonds, clean beds, and food 
so good and appetizing that I almost blush 
now to remember the size of the meals which 
I ate at Minnie Moore's table. Exchange 
Hotel, Albuquerque, New Mexico, will ever 
be associated with Tom Post and his indo- 
lent Mexican wife. Tombstone, Arizona, in- 
stantly brings up old Walsh and his Cancan 
restaurant, of which more later. Battle Moun- 
tain stands for Mr. and Mrs. Huntress, a 
good table, their sudden riches and as sud- 
den poverty. 

To these frontier proprietors we were the 
connection with the outside world ; we served 
to vary the monotony of their days, and we 
found in them entertainment to vary the 
tediousness of our long journeys. 

I was in Hailey, Idaho, in 1898, and its 
streets were comparatively deserted and many 
of its houses tenantless. Years before, when 
the Wood River country was booming and 
the mining industries of that section were in 
[130] 



Frontier Hotels 

full blast, Hailey's sidewalks were crowded; 
its streets were full of teams hauling ores and 
supplies ; its gambling-halls were run " wide 
open" and were heavily patronized ; and in one 
of them was this sign above the roulette wheel 
and faro table: "Place your bets to suit; the 
sky is the only limit." 

The Queen of the Hills and other famous 
producers of silver ore are now worked out 
or their grade of ore has become too base to 
be handled at depths with profit, and the hills 
are silent where formerly was heard the hum 
of that industry which furnished employment 
to hundreds of miners and piled up wealth 
for the mine owners. There too was the fa- 
mous Minnie Moore Mine, the richest of them 
all; and though its day of glory has passed, 
it is still worked, but under the management 
of strangers to the old pioneers. 

Minnie Moore, for whom this mine was 

named, has been dead these many years. How 

well I remember her and how pleasant in the 

overland stage days was a sojourn at Las Ve- 

[ 131 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

gas Hot Springs when she and Scott Moore, 
her husband, kept the hotel! The building 
was a long one-story adobe; the rooms were 
numerous but small and scantily though 
neatly furnished, and in the latter respect 
were in marked contrast to conditions preva- 
lent in niost of the hotels in New Mexico. 
This hostelry was among the few places on 
the Southern frontier where the service and 
meals resembled the fare of the plain East- 
ern country homes, — no style, but an abun- 
dance of nourishing food. The travellers ar- 
rived at the Springs weary from the long 
stage rides and with most voracious appetites 
from open-air exposure. They had been un- 
able to satisfy normal cravings on unpalata- 
ble sinewy meats and soggy bread, — bread 
made heavier because the wheat was garnered 
after being threshed by the treading of the 
sheep ; for the grit of the soil adhered to the 
flour and most of the cooks were too lazy 
to use the sieve thoroughly. Thus the miners, 
merchants, stockmen and commercial travel- 
[ 132 ] 



Frontier Hotels 

lers were glad of any excuse to stay as long as 
possible at the Moores' hotel for a rest before 
resuming the hard and disagreeable journeys 
by stage. 

We all stood ready to jump into our seats in 
the dining-room the moment the little Mexi- 
can boy announced that the meal was ready. 
Was there ever a better cook than Minnie 
Moore ? A mining man who was prospecting 
in Idaho and who had feasted at the Moores' 
decided that it would be an omen of good 
luck to name his mine after such a good cook 
and housekeeper. And it was, for the Minnie 
Moore Mine proved to be a most valuable 
property and made its owner rich. 

In the evening the guests used to gather 
in a large sitting-room, and any news was wel- 
come, for the daily papers were old and stale 
when we read them. The Apaches were then 
very " bad," and as soon as the spring rains 
started the grass so that the ponies could 
live, this tribe of Indians set out on the war- 
path. The south-bound passengers sought the 
[ 133 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

north-bound to learn the most recent depre- 
dations and the movements of Victorio, and 
to know what General Crook was doing. The 
military guarding of the water holes, the 
employment of Apache scouts, and the usual 
treaties in winter that returned the savages 
for support to the reservation received almost 
universal condemnation from the frontiers- 
men; and, justly or unjustly, most of the citi- 
zens held that Crook's reputation as an In- 
dian fighter could have been gained only be- 
cause at the time of his victory over the 
Apaches Cochise's warriors were armed only 
with bows and arrows, while Victorio's band 
were equipped as well and as formidably as 
the soldiers of our army. 

Regularly at nine in the evening Mrs. 
Moore entered the sitting-room with a rustle 
of skirts and glint of jewels. Well-dressed 
women on the frontier were so scarce that the 
sweep of her skirts made pleasant music to 
our ears, and we all arose from our seats to 
welcome her, — a little homage we were glad 
[ 134 ] 



Frontier Hotels 
to render, as bringing to mind our own loved 
ones in homes far away. Scott Moore was a 
genial host, polite and kind to every one but 
Minnie; he was not publicly unkind to her, 
but her friends knew that she experienced 
the unhappiness of a partially neglected wife, 
though she was all devotion to him. 

From Las Vegas Hot Springs the Moores 
went to Albuquerque, in the early eighties 
when the Santa F^ Railroad was completed 
to that place, and when every day witnessed 
some growth in the town. I was living at Albu- 
querque at the time, and felt how fortunate 
I was that such admirable hosts had rented 
the leading hotel, so I went to the Armijo 
House to board with them. I had just one 
square meal which Minnie prepared the even- 
ing before the hotel was regularly opened to 
the public. Crowds came to the hotel and 
filled it, but the days of good cooking proved 
to be a thing of the past. Mr. and Mrs. 
Moore seemed to think it beneath their dig- 
nity to continue personal supervision of the 
[ 135] 



Smith of Bear City 

culinary department, and indeed appeared to 
care more for whiskey and hilarious revelry 
than for the dull routine of business duties. 
However, they prospered financially; indeed 
they could not help it while the Atlantic and 
Pacific Railroad was being built west of Albu- 
querque and was obtaining its supplies from 
that city. But with that road completed there 
came a change: business fell off; real estate 
declined in value; bad investments had been 
made domestically as well as financially, and 
Scott and Minnie separated, each denouncing 
the other's folly and incompetent manage- 
ment. But Scott JMoore was jovial to the last, 
and when the end came we gave him a first- 
class funeral. Dear old Parson Ashley had been 
accustomed in his ministerial career to hold 
service in the rough border towns where, as he 
told me, they had " a man for breakfast every 
morning." On the day of that funeral he 
was perhaps not in very sanguine spirits nor 
very confident as to the outcome, for he was 
stinting in commendation of the dead man's 
[ 136] 



Frontier Hotels 
virtues and was not inclined to be enthusias- 
tic over the future. But Moore's friends were 
largely among the drinking and gambling 
classes, and they were not troubled over the 
omission of saintly hopes for the life hereafter. 
One of them expressed their sentiments when 
he said, " Scott would feel more at home where 
there was a bar than with a psalm book and a 
harp ; so that he had probably gone where he'd 
rather be and where he could take a hand in 
what 's going on and not have to sit alone on 
the back seat and miss the boys." 

Poor Minnie Moore wandered into for- 
bidden paths. One day I boarded the south- 
bound Santa Fd train at Lamy, New Mexico, 
and was passing through the passenger coach 
on my way to the Pullman car, when I noticed 
Mrs. JNloore occupying two seats and appar- 
ently asleep. I hoped to pass her unnoticed, but 
she saw me and said, " Please sit here," point- 
ing to the seat opposite her. " I am too weak 
to rise and greet you, but your face brings to 
mind other days and the dear old place at the 
[ 137 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

Springs. I feel so sick and weary of the trials 
and burdens of life ; nothing but sorrow and 
pain is ahead of me ; all hope is crushed and 
I have not long to live. You knew me in the 
early days of my happy home when there 
were no dark clouds and when hard work was 
a glorious pastime, though I did not think so 
then. Scott has gone, so 1 '11 not curse my hus- 
band for his part in the shadows. Please do not 
think I erred from choice. I sought to make 
Scott jealous, little realizing what was in store 
for me by the turning of one wrong leaf in my 
book of life. The lines for a woman's conduct 
are closely drawn, — once down, forever gone. 
I am groping in the dark and there is no light 
ahead. Even you, old friend, tried to shrink 
from my sight and pass by on the other side. 
I'll not trouble you long. If only oblivion 
could be my final boon, if my soul could 
perish with my mortal flesh, I would end all 
this very day. But I am doomed — perhaps 
forever, unless the good Lord reads my heart 
and is lenient with those not bad from choice. 
[138] 



Frontier Hotels 
Scott and I did not hitch very well in life, 
but in death, buried near each other, and our 
names joined together on the gravestone, we 
will forgive each other, and perhaps the dear 
INIaster will be so kind as not to wake us, but 
let us sleep on silently forever in the sunshine 
that lightens these desolate plains." 

The train arrived at Wallace, New Mexico. 
Tottering feebly, she arose from her seat. I 
helped her from the car. Kind relatives met 
her at the station and gave her a warm wel- 
come. I hoped those friendly surroundings 
might have a soothing influence upon her. 
Poor Minnie Moore I I knew that I would 
never see her again. The shadows were upon 
her and she passed away a few days later. She 
would have been honoured and respected had 
her domestic life been happy ; but in a moment 
of jealousy she had made a fatal mistake. She 
and Scott had lived a strenuous life amid fron- 
tier influences which did not make for the best 
in humanity; but many of the guests at the 
Moore hotel will remember the kindly cheer 
[ 139] 



Smith of Bear City 

and welcome given to the weary strangers and 
sojourners who staged over the dreary wastes 
and desolate plains of the desert. As hosts 
they played their part well; and the publicans 
have their place as well as the lawyers, doc- 
tors, warriors, merchants and farmers. 

While the mention of Las Vegas Hot 
Springs Hotel brings up the remembrance of 
warmth and comfort and appetizing plenty, 
the words "Exchange Hotel, Albuquerque," 
suggest the antithesis of these amenities in 
every respect. It was kept by Tom Post and 
his indolent Mexican wife. The stage south 
bound was due at Albuquerque in the small 
hours of the morning. Well do I remember 
my feelings when I was ushered into my 
room. The sheets may have been "regularly" 
laundered, — like the man who bathed "regu- 
larly," taking a swim every Fourth of July, — 
but I think it must have been a New Year's 
ablution, and it was now November. An In- 
dian tepee would have been cleaner and more 
inviting than any guest chamber in the hotel. 
[ 140 ] 



Frontier Hotels 

I spread my blankets, and "endeavouring to 
extract the good from everything," I recog- 
nized that the room did not jolt as the stage 
had done. Nothing could be said in favour of 
the table, for the food and cooking were simply 
atrocious. But we had to stand Tom, with his 
unceasing grin, his shuffling gait, and his table, 
for we feared to attempt to better our quar- 
ters lest we should offend his dark-skinned 
wife and our tenancy be made uncertain and 
disagreeable beyond regular conditions. Tom 
was the stage agent and could make it very 
uncomfortable for the travellers who stopped 
at Woener's opposition hotel. He would state 
that the stage list was full, especially on the 
days when the jerky ran instead of the Con- 
cord coach, and as he kept the way-bill in his 
private room, no one could dispute him until 
the stage was ready to start, when it might 
be seen that there was still room for more. 
One guest at Woener s brought Tom to 
terms. He had seen the stage go out full for 
three days with a suspicious, discriminating 
[141 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

precedence given to other passengers. He 
took Tom aside and told him that if the stage 
was full the next morning, Price's Overland 
Stage Company would be minus an agent if 
his gun and he could come to a satisfactory 
agreement. Mrs. Post might have risen to the 
occasion, but not Tom, who was in deadly fear 
of any gun play and was in a panic lest the 
stage should arrive full ; he therefore promised 
a private rig in case he could not accommo- 
date his friend with such urgent business, and 
thus the patron of the stage was not longer 
delayed on his journey. 

Some years after I had ceased to stop at 
Post's hotel, Tom and I chanced to be on a 
Santa Fd train that ran off the track a long 
distance from any place where food could be 
obtained. During the long waiting hours I 
became very hungry, though looking at Tom 
and recalling the character of the meals served 
at the old Exchange Hotel had a slightly 
dissipating effect on my appetite. Perhaps 
at that late date there was an awakening of 
[ 142 ] 



Frontier Hotels 

his conscience, for he seemed to feel some in- 
terest in my physical welfare. His counte- 
nance beamed with unusual benignity, and at 
last he took me aside from the other passen- 
gers and with a smile befitting a generous ac- 
tion gave me a soda cracker and a small piece 
of bologna sausage. How good they tasted I 
I forgot his bad record and decided that 
Tom's fare was not so bad — for the very 
hungry. 

On my first trip to Tombstone, Arizona, 
I met Judge Henson, an acquaintance from 
the San Juan country. He invited me to take 
dinner with him at the Cancan restaurant. 
The judge's moral standing at his home in 
Colorado was high, and I could but fear that 
the Arizona atmosphere was having a de- 
moralizing influence upon him and that he 
was in danger of a rapid fall from grace. He 
did not seem as surprised as I expected, and 
I thought him uncommonly obtuse in not 
comprehending my attitude and feelings; so 
I explained that I had never found it neces- 
[ 143 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

sary for my happiness to visit the cancan as 
exhibited in the East, and I would rather do 
without it in Tombstone, where it would prob- 
ably be given with less drapery and more 
startling effects. It was now the judge's turn 
to be amused at my comments and desire to 
maintain a proper moral standard. " I took it 
for granted that you would want to go to the 
best restaurant in town," he said, "and that 
is what the Cancan is in this place. It is kept 
by old Walsh. Poor old man I he never heard 
of 'The Black Crook,' he does not know 
whether the ballet is given by bearded men 
or is a bit of scenery, and he's no dictionary 
fiend who knows how to swing the best title 
for a front sign. I asked Walsh where he got 
that name. He said that he had seen it in 
some reading matter and he liked the sound, 
* because,' he said, ' I can give as good a meal 
as any one else cancan;' and he can." 

His daughters managed the restaurant 
after their father sought new fields in INIon- 
tana. Walsh is cancanning no more on earth ; 
[ 144 ] 



Frontier Hotels 

but all who visited Tombstone in the early 
eighties will agree that no hungry man could 
make a more satisfactory investment of his 
money than by patronizing Walsh's Cancan. 
One more host and hostess come to mind 
as I remember the frontier days, — Jimmy 
and Mrs. Huntress, whom many Nevada pio- 
neers will also remember. They kept a hotel 
at Battle Mountain; there were worse and 
there were better hotels in the Sage-Brush 
State. When the east and west bound trains 
of the Southern Pacific stopped for dinner 
at their hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Huntress made 
money; they made it even after their dollar 
and a half dinner was reduced to one dollar 
and later to seventy-five cents; even this last 
price must have yielded from one to two 
hundred per cent, notwithstanding the exor- 
bitant freight rates and highly paid servants. 
What they made in the hotel went into 
mining prospects, and one day they "struck 
it rich." A valuable mine was discovered, 
opened up, and then sold for one hundred 
[ 145 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

and fifty thousand dollars. Jimmy and Mrs. 
Huntress felt sure that they had a bonanza 
which would last forever. They rented their 
hotel and went to California to enjoy the best 
that could be had. How they made the money 
fly! Whether Jimmy had his private boot- 
black with full wages by the month, as I was 
told, I do not know, but the Huntress family 
certainly sought the acquaintance of every 
one who could show them how to get rid of 
money. They made the rounds quite rapidly 
and had lots of fun until their last bank 
check had been honoured. Then Jimmy and 
Mrs. Huntress are said to have had quite a 
lively family discussion, and in fiery language 
to have blamed each other for the melan- 
choly ending of their holiday. They separated : 
Jimmy returned to the mountains, hoping to 
locate another rich mine, of which he was 
still in search when I last heard of him; Mrs. 
Huntress returned to the management of the 
Battle Mountain hotel. But the palmy days 
did not return. The trains did not stop regu- 
[ 146 ] 



Frontier Hotels 

larly for dinner. One of her sons became a 
brakeman and the other a barkeeper, and 
they soon forgot that for a brief season they 
had enjoyed the luxurious ease of the rich. 
As times grew harder and harder Mrs. Hun- 
tress painted her face more and more, as if 
colour would sustain her courage. But youth 
was too far gone to be recalled, and there 
were also indications that she was not un- 
acquainted with the liquors of her own bar. 
About this time I was returning from a 
trip to the store of the Merrimac Mine and 
had to stop at Mrs. Huntress's hotel in order 
to make railroad connections for the West. 
Some one told her that there were two young 
orphan sisters at the station, waiting for the 
night train to Austin, but they were without 
money and so unable to stop at the hotel. 
Kind-hearted and generous, Mrs. Huntress 
went at once to find them and brought them 
to her hotel. When she had by inquiry learned 
that they were the children of a former station 
agent at Battle Mountain, that their parents 
[ 147] 



Smith of Bear City 

had been married at the Huntress hotel, and 
that the orphans were on their way to an aunt 
near Austin, Nevada, Mrs. Huntress could not 
do too much for the "little dears." She gave 
them a bountiful dinner and supper and, fill- 
ing a basket with fruit and confectionery, took 
them to the train, putting them in charge of 
the conductor. As she bade the little girls 
good-by I saw tears in her eyes, and I thought 
that her kindness and sympathy for the or- 
phans revealed the true woman's heart. I for- 
got about her paint and gaudy apparel and 
was proud of my landlady. 



Note. Though Mimiie Moore of Las Vegas claimed that 
the Minnie Moore Mine was named for her and I have given 
that version, yet the fads are against her. Postmaster Moore 
of Salt Lake City was one of the original locators and own- 
ers of the Minnie Moore Mine. He had a beautiful and ac- 
complished daughter, and his friends have told me that this 
mine was named after his daughter, Minnie Moore. 

[ 148 ] 



The Man under the Bed 



It is a womanish confession, this looking 
under the bed for the proverbial man, but 
I plead guilty, not, however, in order to dis- 
cover this person, but because I have already- 
found him. 

In the fall of 1871 I arrived at Frederick- 
town, Missouri, at two o'clock in the morn- 
ing, a time certainly when people should be 
settled either in the bed or under it, accord- 
ing as one plies his vocation by day or by 
night. My assignment to a room was destined 
to be as novel if not as exciting as finding the 
aforesaid man. I left the train, but found no 
porters and no busses. The station master di- 
rected me to the hotel, and being armed evi- 
dently by the experience of previous guests, 
was disposed to let me profit by their mis- 
takes. He told me that the landlord was much 
more desirous of rounding out his own full 
quota of hours of sleep than of ministering 
[ 149 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

to the comfort of his patrons ; that I would 
find the office lighted and provided with can- 
dles, and that my best plan of procedure was 
to hunt up a room myself and claim it by 
right of possession. His directions were so ex- 
plicit that I had no difficulty in locating the 
hotel. I registered, lighted a candle, and then 
proceeded on my quest for a place to sleep. 
The prospect was not inviting, but perhaps 
better than encountering an irate landlord. 

The first room emitted sounds too unmis- 
takably indicative of occupancy to leave any 
doubt here ; the second furnished a chorus of 
similar tumult. This certainly was preferable 
to uncertainty. Number three was locked. So 
far there was no room for indecision. The 
next one gave forth no sound, and the knob 
yielded to my pressure. Both beds were oc- 
cupied. In my perturbation I was of course 
bound to make a noise. The sleepers awoke, 
and with no uncertain sound informed me 
that I must be a fresh kid in those parts if I 
did n't know that that end of the house was 
[ 150 1 



The Man under the Bed 

for permanent fixtures and that the front 
rooms were reserved for "biled-shirt fellers." 
It was reassuring to have definite directions, 
so I stood not upon the order of my going, 
but sought the front of the house. 

I was relieved to find the first room open 
and unoccupied and that it had two win- 
dows, a chair and a good bed. The prospect 
for getting some sleep was brightening. I did 
not want it cut short, and so went back to the 
ofiice and entered the number of the room 
opposite my name, that no new-comer might 
be assigned to it. 

It did not seem more than an hour before 
I was awakened by the landlord attending 
to his duties ; these duties were various, since 
"division of labor" seemed not yet to have 
entered the economy of his domain. He was 
the proprietor, clerk, bell-boy and porter, and 
owner of a bottle of blacking, a boot brush 
and a block of wood for a foot-rest ; and the 
guests were entitled to the privilege of shin- 
ing their own shoes or going without this 
[151 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
luxury, as suited their pleasure. As bell-boy 
and boss he made himself known to me by 
rapping loudly on my door and announcing, 
"Stranger, you've got just thirty minutes to 
put on your wraps and hit the dining-room 
or go without breakfast, darned if I care 
which." It did not take me long to accept this 
cordial invitation to the morning repast. The 
menu was not elaborate, but the food was 
wholesome and well cooked ; and I very much 
preferred the gruiF and arbitrary conduct plus 
good food to the better-natured hog and hom- 
iny landlords who had entertained me dur- 
ing my recent weary horseback ride through 
northern Arkansas. 

The Iron Mountain Railroad was then only 
a short system extending from St. Louis to 
Belmont, Missouri, but the service was good, 
with two trains a day between the terminal 
points. I was unable to finish my business in 
time to take the day train, and was so weary 
that I did not wish to leave at two o'clock 
in the morning, so I decided to remain until 
[ 152 ] 



The Man under the Bed 

the second day and get a full night's rest. 
Vain hope ! It proved to be a full night, but 
rest was not the principal ingredient. 

During one of my landlord's genial mo- 
ments he gave me leave to retain my room 
a second night and commented on my intui- 
tion in selecting the best room in the house. 
I learned later that all the guests were blessed 
with similar intuitive perceptions, according 
to the landlord's bland phrases. 

I retired early. The house was old and the 
air in the room was close and musty. The win- 
dows had no springs, but knowing that my 
landlord provided no extras, I was in doubt 
what to do, as it was late to hunt up a tree and 
cut off a branch for a prop for the window. 
While I was studying the problem of venti- 
lation I fortunately espied an empty quart 
flask that would serve as window stick admi- 
rably. The window opened on to an outside 
porch, and there was a staircase leading from 
this porch to the ground. However, I had but 
a small sum of money with me and had no 
[ 153] 



Smith of Bear City 

fear of burglars. In 1871 nearly all the natives 
and travellers in southern Missouri carried re- 
volvers and bowie-knives, for even the most 
peaceful citizens never knew what exigencies 
might arise, and deadly weapons were a safe- 
guard. I had a Colt's revolver, but I never 
carried a bowie-knife ; the appearance of that 
effective weapon was never pleasant to me. 

I do not think I had been asleep long when 
I was awakened by hearing my window low- 
ered and inside of the room stood a man. Re- 
membering that but the night before I had 
been a man standing inside another's room, 
I assumed that he too might be in search of 
rest; but the manner of entrance was not re- 
assuring, and I reached quietly and quickly 
for my trousers and drew my revolver from 
the hip pocket. I cocked it and had the man 
covered, and was on the point of inquiring 
the object of his visit when he suddenly dis- 
appeared. It was raining and the night was 
dark. I could not see the intruder, but I could 
hear him crawling along on the floor toward 
[ 154 ] 



The Man under the Bed 
the bed, and then I reahzed that I probably 
had a burglar to fight. 

In a close conflict a knife can be used with 
quicker action and more deadly effect than a 
revolver. I assumed that the burglar assassin 
was so equipped, and I knew that in such 
event my only hope of survival was in a shot 
through his vitals the moment he began to 
feel on the bedclothes for me and before he 
had time to locate me. As quickly as possi- 
ble I moved to the farther corner of the bed 
near the wall. I could hear the robber ap- 
proaching slowly, and when he stopped I 
knew that he was listening to learn my posi- 
tion. How thankful I was that I was awake 
and that there was not the usual deep breath- 
ing to betray me. The perspiration stood in 
great drops on my forehead ; I could hear my 
heart thump. I might not have long to live, 
but the few moments were hours and I was 
waiting with intense anxiety for action to 
begin. 1 did not dare shoot with uncertain 
aim and thus betray my location. Should I 
[ 155] 



Smith of Bear City 
shout for help, I felt sure that the knife would 
end my life before aid could reach me. Had 
wealth been mine how gladly would I have 
parted with it to purchase safety, and how 
many years from off my life would I have 
bartered for moonshine instead of rain and 
darkness, so that I could have the advantage 
of sight and more than one shot from my re- 
volver. When I heard him close to the bed 
and was waiting for him to seek for me, the 
delay seemed interminable. Many thoughts of 
wiser action flashed through my mind, and 
I regretted that I had not begun shooting 
when he was farther away and when the 
chances of hitting him would have been bet- 
ter as he rushed at me with the di'awn knife. 
My murderer had ceased to crawl along 
the floor, but I could hear slight noises from 
his movements in turning over, as I supposed, 
in his final preparations to stab and rob me. 
All was again quiet. I waited and waited. 
The suspense was growing unendurable. Why 
did n't he move ? Why did n't he thrust me 
[156] 



The Man under the Bed 

through? Anything would be preferable to 
this oppressive stillness. I couldn't stand it 
longer and decided on what all will agree was 
most indiscreet. I took matches from the 
pocket of my trousers and lighted one. Oh ! 
fool that I was to give away my exact location ! 
The match went out — of course it did I — and 
in terror I struck a second one and lighted the 
candle that was on the stand. As my foe re- 
mained out of sight I gathered courage and 
hope, and ventured to look over the edge of 
the bed, but I could not see the man. The time 
when I must shoot and be shot at had come, 
for now he was no longer situated to stab me 
with the knife. I leaped into the centre of the 
room and, facing my adversary, took careful 
aim. What was my surprise to see the des- 
perado with arms and hands drawn close to 
his body, and totally unprepared for the duel. 
He was at my mercy; I could readily have 
killed him, — frontier etiquette doubtless de- 
manded it, — yet the thought of slaying even 
a burglar was not pleasant to contemplate, 
[ 157 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

and I withheld my shot. So instead of dis- 
charging my revolver, I sent forth the order, 
" Hands up or instant death," which proved 
equally effective. He obeyed, but answered 
not a word. I bade him come forth from under 
the bed. Locomotion in his position and with 
hands up was decidedly inconvenient, so I 
changed my order to " Stretch arms at full 
length and roll over. " I soon had him on his 
feet with hands above his head, and the next 
act on the programme was to search and dis- 
arm him, with the reassuring assertion that 
if he moved a muscle off would go his head. 
However, with my burglar, who I now saw 
was drenched with rain and shaking with cold 
and fear, such a fierce show of fight on my 
part seemed superfluous, and I proceeded 
more calmly. His only weapon was a fine- 
tooth comb, grim with age but not from use. 

This unseasonable visit was now a mystery 
indeed, and as I had not yet had the pleasure 
of hearing his voice, I asked an explanation. 

"Oh, Mister, if you will just unhitch your- 
[ 158] 



The Man under the Bed 

self from that shootin'-iron, or pint it to the 
wall instead of my head, 1 11 be after tellin' 
you all about it." 

I complied, and he began his story. 

"I was wunst a section boss, and there was 
niver a better man than me astride a hand- 
car. I had good pay and, with no calico to 
tie to, I took to the hotel as me home and 
bought me board and lodgin' as a gintleman 
should. As I was free of nights, and did n't 
git overtired while the boys shovelled, I was 
not short on time enough but that I bought 
whiskey, I have a natural fondness for the 
critter, and I loved the fuddle of it more than 
me life or me job. One foine day the bloody 
track master comes along, and him and me 
had a dialogue. I was not over half full, for 
I could walk, though I could not tell a tie 
from a shovel. He had the last say, and it was 
thusly : ' If you and me think the railroad can 
run without ye, then take a slide.' Argument 
did n't count with his highness. He resigned 
me job for me, and as I niver owned a bank 
[ 159] 



Smith of Bear City 

book because I couldn't drink it, and had 
only one small time check comin' to me, me 
landlord also gave me a chance to resign, with 
a vigorous boot to me credit because I could n't 
fergit his beds were invitin' at night and I 
did n't need an usher to show me to a room. 
" I was as dry last night as a salted herrin' 
in hell, when I had the good luck to meet an 
old section frind who had money enough to 
buy a full quart of good whiskey from our 
blissed landlord. The ould man may have some 
kind spots in his heart, but I niver found 'em, 
and he has n't a gracious way with his cus- 
tomers. When he had our cash snug in his 
pocket he sez to me, *Pat, you old divil, now 
take a long walk, you and your frind; and 
you'd better remimber that I've telegrams 
for all the rooms and don't try to steal the 
lodgin's of me guests.' The whiskey was foine, 
and what did me and me frind care for room 
and beds with the night young ? Wal, whin 
we got through drinkin' and talkin' — for we 
had much to say to each other — I wint to 
[160] 



The Man under the Bed 

sleep outside, and would have been all right 
only the rain found me, and me frind was 
gone. I was so wet and cold and lonesome 
that I was bound to have a bed at any cost. 
For the first time in town history I found the 
door below locked. It seemed as if me land- 
lord had anticipated me visit. Sez I to meself, 
'Patrick, what are you goin' to do? You'd 
better not break down any doors, for the land- 
lord is an excitable kind of man, and yer can't 
buy much sleep from him with only a nickel 
to yer name.' Then the thought comes, all of 
a sudden like, of the outside stairs and this 
beautiful room with the bed big enough for 
you and me. I saw you had left the window 
up and, to say the honest truth, there was an 
invitin'-lookin' prop under it, as if you was 
expectin' me, though I really did hope you 
were away from home. Sez I to me, * The hour 
is late, and the only dacent way is to be quiet 
and disturb no one, and if no good frind of 
mine has the bed I '11 take it meself Sol 
crawled along as softly as a mouse in a flour 
[161 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

barrel until I got square under the bed, and 
I was about to feel if there was room for me 
when I heard you shakin' as though you had 
the chills. Sez I tome, ' Here is a nice man who 
is sick, and I won't seek an introduction until 
mornin'.' You know, sonny, that I am deal- 
in' you out the truth. I like your looks. The 
bed is wide; there is room for us both, and 
you would n't mind treatin' an old man like 
me to a little sleep that won't cost you a cent, 
and then you would n't be so lonesome and 
miss me bein' gone, God bless your dear soul." 

I was thankful I had not killed the drunken 
intruder, and told him that while I could not 
allow him to occupy the room and bed with 
me, I would turn him loose in the hall and 
he could forage for himself. 

"All right, me boy ; 't ain't for you and me 
to quarrel now. But won't you kindly light 
me to a room and go ahead to show me the 
way? for I feel sort of lost like and skeered." 

I replied that I would hold the light until 
he got to a door and would supply him with 
[ 162 ] 



The Man under the Bed 

matches, and I advised him to make his en- 
trance known or his stay on earth might be 
short. 

" Thank you, me boy; your advice betokens 
a larger purse than mine." He walked with 
uncertain step to the door nearly opposite, 
and then paused and said, " I hope to the Holy 
Virgin that me troubles are over and that 
there is no one in this room, or that it is oc- 
cupied by a friend, who won't play a lone hand 
on me this cold night." 

Then the ex-section boss walked into the 
room. I did not wait for results, but returned 
to my bed. In a few minutes I heard angry 
words with much profanity injected emphati- 
cally, and I concluded that my newly found 
acquaintance had again found preempted pre- 
mises. I opened my door and looked out. 
The hotel proprietor was certainly sensitive 
about being awakened in the night, and in 
appearance not prepossessing, clad in night- 
dress and bed slippers. Dire threats with pun- 
ishment never ending, and curses loud and 
[ 163 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

shocking, were hurled at the poor terrified fel- 
low. The landlord stood shaking his fists vio- 
lently at the intruder as if utter annihilation 
were to follow ; so indignant was he that when 
for the first time in local annals he had locked 
the outside door of his hostelry this miserable 
specimen had rendered precautions vain and 
was now under his roof. 

The landlord now turned his angry looks at 
me, who had been trying to get a word with 
him. Concluding that I too might be impli- 
cated in this conspiracy to i*ob him of his in- 
estimable sleep, he asked me in no gentle tone 
if I knew *' how the d — d cuss had got in." 

I explained the situation, the fright that 
I had experienced, my thankfulness that the 
man's blood was not on my hands, and 
pleaded for leniency for the wretch. I told the 
landlord that if he would allow me to pay 
for the stranger's bed and breakfast I should 
greatly appreciate the kindness. 

After expressing extreme regret that I had 
not made the coroner's services necessary, my 
[ 164 ] 



The Man under the Bed 
host sullenly departed, leaving the ex-section 
boss to quiet and his much-longed-for bed. 

The excitement of the episode kept me 
awake for a long time, and was followed by 
a late sleep, so that it was nine o'clock when 
I went downstairs to breakfast. As I entered 
the office on my way to the dining-room, a 
brawny, red-faced Irishman grasped my hand 
and said: "You be a perfect gintleman. 
You've treated me to bed and breakfast, and 
now I 'd like to take a drink at your expense." 

It is needless to say that my hospitality 
extended no farther, save that he received 
some sound advice at my expense, which was 
sadly wasted according to later reports. 

Whatever ending the incident might have 
had my conscience would not have troubled 
me, but I have never ceased to be glad that 
the night was dark and my target concealed. 
And may I not be pardoned for searching my 
room at night to prevent the possibility of 
making a second under-the-bed acquaintance? 

[ 165] 



The Story of * ' Lost Charlie Kean 



It was a most beseeching little face that was 
turned up to Charlie Kean's mother, and a 
most imploring little voice that begged to go 
with Johnny Carter, a cow-boy employed on 
the ranch, to find the lost horse. It seemed 
that one of the neighbours had found the horse 
sick and had cared for it, and that Mr. Kean 
had told Johnny to get the horse, and if it 
was better, to turn it loose for the men on the 
round-up to bring in. It was a most tempt- 
ing expedition, but Charlie was only ten years 
old ; he was going on Sunday ; cow-boys were 
rather unreliable; so the mother felt obliged 
to say no. 

There was one more chance. "Father did 
not mind doing things on Sunday," and the 
next morning when Mrs. Kean went to the 
kitchen she found Charlie eating his break- 
fast in great glee, armed with his father's per- 
mission. 

[ 167 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

The mother spent most of the day with 
neighbours who were in trouble, with hardly 
a thought for her boy, until as she mounted 
her horse to go home she suddenly felt un- 
accountably anxious about him. As she ap- 
proached the house she saw Johnny riding 
away rapidly, and Mr. Kean excitedly giving 
orders to the men. "Where is Charlie?" was 
her first question. "That is just what Johnny 
asked," was the reply, "and when I told him 
that he ought to know, he turned and gal- 
loped away." 

Mrs. Kean rushed into the house and up 
to Johnny's room, to find that all the car- 
tridges had been emptied from the box which 
he had bought on Saturday. " He has killed 
my boy and left him to be devoured by coy- 
otes," was her only thought. 

The father mounted a splendid horse, good 
for a hundred miles without food or water, 
and rode all night, stopping only to build fires 
of the sage-brush and soap weed as signals for 
his lost boy, and to call, " Charlie! Charlie!" 
[168] 



The Story of ** Lost Charlie Kean" 
The superintendent of the mine near by 
called a meeting of the miners, ordered all 
work to stop, and an organized search of the 
Arizona desert was begun. 

On Monday morning, with two of the best 
horses which she had reserved for herself, Mrs. 
Kean joined the searchers. After riding sev- 
eral hours she came upon her husband, his 
powerful horse white with foam, but as full of 
life and fii-e as ever. His woful face showed 
that there was no good news. It had been 
learned that the ranchman who had cared for 
the horse had seen Charlie and Johnny ride 
away, and that was the last news of them. 

Meanwhile Johnny was pursued, but he 
was not inclined to surrender until, finding 
that the infuriated men were ready to shoot 
him, he threw up his hands and submitted to 
capture. No information could be obtained 
from him except that he left Charlie about 
nine o'clock Sunday morning, headed for 
home. Although the men wanted to hang him 
then and there unless he would confess the 
[ 169] 



Smith of Bear City- 
whole truth, he was only put in confinement, 
and the hunt went on. 

There was a gleam of hope for a moment 
when the searchers came upon a band of San 
Carlos Apaches, for it was thought that possi- 
bly they had captured the boy and were hold- 
ing him for reward ; but they had seen nothing 
of him, and the horrible suspense again set- 
tled down upon the searching party. 

Although one cannot require certificates 
of good moral character from men employed 
on a ranch, — for help would be scarce under 
those conditions, — still the father in his de- 
speration stopped to inquire into the former 
life of Johnny. It was not comforting. He 
had almost mortally wounded his father in a 
quarrel, and had killed a man in Texas. On 
Wednesday the boy was given up for lost. 

Let us now follow Charhe in his weary 
wanderings over the pathless, bewildering 
wastes of the desert. After Carter and Charlie 
arrived at the ranchman's and found that the 
sick horse was better, the animal was turned 
[ 170 ] 



The Story of *^ Lost Charlie Kean" 

loose on the ranch. Then Carter proposed to 
CharHe that they go and see the double wind- 
mills that had been put up by the Ida May 
•Mining Company. Charlie replied, " Papa told 
us to come right home when we turned the 
horse on the ranch." "Your pa can boss you, 
but he can't me," Carter replied, "and I'm 
going to see them." 

Carter pretended to show Charlie the way 
home, but was either bewildered himself or 
purposely designed that the boy should get 
lost, for he started him in the wrong direction. 

The little ten-year-old fellow started off 
bravely for home, feeling that his trip would 
be over all too soon. Hour after hour passed. 
There was no sign of home, no water and no 
food. The horse was worn out, for Charlie had 
urged him at great speed, hoping to find some 
sign of human habitation. It was with diffi- 
culty that he could keep the horse from turn- 
ing back, but he knew that only desolate 
wastes lay behind hiin, whatever he might 
find if he pressed onward. 
[ 171 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

It was now well on into the night. The lit- 
tle fellow was frightened by the barking of 
coyotes and was sure that he heard the roar 
of mountain lions. He dismounted, lariated 
his horse and built a fire. The coyotes came 
near enough to be seen in the gleam of the 
firelight, and howled at him dismally. He be- 
gan to think that Sunday-school was a pretty 
good place after all, and also that it was not 
a bad plan to do as one 's mother wished ; at 
any rate, he would like the chance again. 

It was a dreadful night. He knew that he 
must have been asleep, for he had had hor- 
rible dreams of being eaten by wild animals. 
At last the sun rose and Charlie was off again. 
His tongue was swollen with thirst, and a 
green scum of soap-suds, as he called it, ran 
from his mouth. He crossed a baiTen moun- 
tain and then descended to the sand wastes 
again. Still no grass and no water. His horse 
was almost staggering beneath him, but on 
they went until the second night drew near. 
Tuesday morning dawned. Charlie had no 
[ 172 ] 




'■■■'"'fe&fl 










>^I^. 



Slioii^ t^-ZiyCtf^e^^J^GeM-i.-- 



The Story of * ' Lost Charlie Kean 
longing for life, but he knew the anxiety of 
the home ones, and oh, if he could only get 
home to die! Suddenly his horse stopped, 
pricked up his ears and started at a furious 
gallop ; he had scented water from afar. A tent 
soon greeted the boy's straining eyes, and in 
a moment the horse fell beside an artesian 
well. The old man who lived in the tent came 
out, and gave the boy glass after glass of water 
and the horse bucketful after bucketful. When 
Charlie had revived so that he could talk, he 
learned that he was sixty miles from home ; 
and how many miles he had travelled in his 
bewilderment he never knew. 

The horse seemed to be dying. "Never 
mind," said John Caulwell, the ranchman, 
"I'll go up to my old boss's place and get 
you another one. You won't be able to travel 
before to-morrow." Old John tried to cheer 
Charlie by telling him stories, but his expe- 
rience was confined to life on the plains, and 
Charlie was in no mood to listen to tales of 
children being captured by Indians or eaten 
[ 173 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

by bears, nor had he any appetite for the old 
man's occasional moral as to the propriety of 
staying at home. 

As the boy and the horse began to re~ 
vive, it seemed to Charlie that he could never 
wait until the next day before running into 
his mother's arms and telling her that he was 
safe and sound. If only Caulwell would tell 
him just how to get home, he was sure he 
could find his way. The ranchman consented 
to start the child off with the first ray of 
morning light. He told him not to go on to 
the mountains and not to go into any of the 
passes, but to keep about their present distance 
from the range until he should see the smoke 
from the Ida May smelter, not far from home. 

At four o'clockon Wednesday Charlie bade 
Caulwell farewell and started for home. The 
horse seemed to appreciate the situation and 
galloped mile after mile at racing speed. At 
noon the mother, who had never ceased to 
scan the distant horizon, sighted her boy com- 
ing across the plains. 

[ 174 ] 



The Story of **Lost Charlie Kean" 
The ranchman was the only Hving being 
he had seen in his four days' journey. What 
mattered it to the mother that Caulwell was 
a poor drunken vagabond in the eyes of the 
world, that he stole his employer's horses and 
skipped the country? To her he was an angel 
of mercy, to be always held in grateful re- 
membrance. 

Do you ask what became of the horse that 
Charlie rode? No barley grows that is too 
good for him. He is the pet of the household. 
Mr. Kean gave orders that no one was to ride 
him save Charlie ; he is a member of the fam- 
ily, and is always called "Dear Billy Kean." 



[ ns ] 



A Race for Life 

"Hark in thine ear: change places ; and, handy-dandy, 
which is the Justice, which is the thief?" King Lear 



It was a cold, cheerless Sabbath evening in 
December in 187- ; the thunder, mingled with 
the fierce gusts of wind, roared with long and 
loud discharge; the lightning flashed across 
the lowering sky, illuminating the whole hea- 
vens for an instant, making the blackness ten 
times blacker when it had vanished. Even the 
muddy waters of the Mississippi seemed al- 
most to sparkle as the white foam dashed 
against the overhanging bluffs. 

The brewing tempest was unheeded by a 
horseman who was dashing toward the ferry 
at Chester. A darker cloud was blotting out 
his horizon. It did not need the lurid flashes 
of hghtning to show him six naked skeletons 
dangling from a lonely tree two miles ahead 
of him ; he saw them all too plainly. It was 
nothing to him now that his coat had as many 
[ 177] 



Smith of Bear City 
colours as Joseph's; that his hat was as open 
as the CoHseum; that innumerable patches 
fluttered in the breeze; that his boots were 
made by different cobblers, and that one 
lacked a heel, the other a toe. Onward he 
plunged through the dark wood, up the hills, 
through the valleys and across the swamps. 
His horse freely strained every muscle in his 
furious pace, and this eagerness should have 
served as an effective check upon the cruel 
spurs which ever and anon the rider was plun- 
ging into his flanks. The dumb beast seemed 
as conscious as his rider that behind them, 
like so many wolves that had tasted blood, 
rode five men on fresher steeds. From the 
pommel of the leader's saddle there hung a 
short thick rope. As the pursuers caught sight 
of their prey, an eager, brutal shout rang out 
of " Stop thief I" now louder, now lower, as the 
wind gained or lost in force. 

Stern and unalterable resolution and the 
courage born of despair were impressed upon 
the features of this fugitive ; heroes have been 
[ 178 ] 



A Race for Life 

made of baser stuff. Single-handed he would 
have faced the five and fought them all then 
and there but that the whole community 
would have joined against him. At times he 
waved his arms triumphantly, displaying his 
trusty revolver and shouting back defiance 
and death; occasionally a musket was dis- 
charged in reply to this challenge. 

The sound of the horses' feet became clearer. 
Could he but reach the ferry and find the boat 
on this side, he would force the ferryman with 
drawn revolver to take him across to the Mis- 
souri side, where in the heavy timber lands, 
with night coming on, he felt certain of es- 
cape. 

The thief rushed down the last hill, past the 
hotel, toward the landing, casting a fright- 
ened, anxious look for the boat — he must 
see it! In a moment he caught sight of it 
moored on the opposite shore. Itwould be im- 
possible to follow the mad rush of thoughts 
that surged through his brain. Further flight 
in the open prairies of Illinois, with no cross- 
[ 179 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
ing nearer than forty miles, was useless. The 
water was cold and forbidding, but it seemed 
friendly compared with that yelling human 
pack at his heels. For a second he clasped his 
hands together and looked upward as if im- 
ploring help from the dun skies above him, 
and then thrusting the spurs into the sides 
of his panting steed, amidst the cries of the 
startled spectators horse and rider plunged 
into the Mississippi — a mile of cold water 
stretching before them. 

The pursuers arrived at the landing, and 
peering through the gathering darkness, they 
could see Vandane and his horse struggling 
in the river. For a moment they pressed on 
with rapid motion ; then there was a dissolv- 
ing view and the swimmers had vanished, but 
only to reappear a moment later. 

The ferryman answered their call, but too 
much time was being lost; a wherry was 
launched, and these would-be dispensers of 
justice pushed ofFjust as Vandane disappeared 
again. This time he came to the surface alone ; 
[ 180] 



A Race for Life 
the faithful beast was beyond rendering fur- 
ther service. 

The fierce curses of the boatmen rang out 
more furiously than before when but a human 
form was seen struggling in the current. They 
redoubled their efforts at the oars. Could they 
but reach him before he gained the river bank, 
they would be repaid for their hard chase 
by swinging him from that lonely tree at the 
Six Sleepers. To be sure, they could shoot 
him now, but that were too humane a death. 
Theft has lost all its ancient grandeur. In the 
decay of this old economic virtue, wander- 
ing bards no longer weave their stirring songs 
to commemorate midnight raids and san- 
guinary forays. Daring enterprises of pillage, 
which would have immortalized the chival- 
rous knights of old, in these degenerate days 
are styled grand or petty larceny. 

Vandane neared the shore and laboriously 
plunged toward it. Why not stop struggling 
and let the merciful river do the deed ? No — 
there is still magic in the word "life." 
[ 181 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

They were upon him now, and with a loud 
cry of triumph and one wild huzza they lifted 
him from the water. He had sufficient strength 
to make a brief resistance, but a well-directed 
blow felled him to the bottom of the boat, and 
handcuffs did the rest ; his quivering form was 
subdued, but not his rebellious spirit. 

"Well, George, business is lively to-day. A 
pretty-looking crowd you 've made of us ; and 
it strikes me that you are not in what might 
be called full dress. A drowning man's me- 
mory is said to be pretty good ; perhaps you'll 
recollect a httle warning I gave you nigh on- 
to two years ago, that if you did n't quit your 
skulduggery we would put you where you 
would n't have to work, for that seems to be 
what you are afraid of. What do you say to 
the prospects?" 

"Captain John," replied Vandane, "let by- 
gones be bygones. It's your turn now. I'm 
down, but I tell you what, I wish my old 
*navy' had brought down a little more fruit 
before I laid it aside." 

[ 182 ] 



A Race for Life 

An excited crowd had gathered at the land- 
ing; indeed the city marshal and the county 
sheriff seemed to be the only ones unaware of 
the capture. A few eager questions and they 
were possessed of all the details, and the cap- 
tors were hailed as conquering heroes. 

"Which way does your course lie, gentle- 
men? Towards the Six Sleepers is the nigh- 
est, I reckon," said a smiling old man. 

"Quite right, my friend; we were think- 
ing that that would be the easiest road." 

*' I 've been told that swinging for a living 
was easier than working," remarked the school- 
teacher. 

" No sedative beats a stroke of gravitation. 
I'd like to be there to take his pulse," said 
the doctor. 

" The force of habit, the education of long 
years, graduates with the honorary degree of 
a hempen cord," remarked a collegian in the 
crowd. 

When the supply of ghastly jokes had spent 
itself, with only one plea for mercy, which, 
[ 183 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
however,found too cold a response to be urged, 
these usurpers of the law proceeded to more 
drastic measures. Murderers in public broils 
were gentlemen, to be treated as such, but 
horse thieves were vipers, to be crushed be- 
neath the feet. 

With true Western cordiality. Captain John 
and his comrades extended a general invita- 
tion for all to visit the " Farmers' Retreat," 
and each was asked what he would have ; nor 
was Vandane forgotten. No man, however 
mean or despised in their eyes, is ever neg- 
lected in the bibulous hospitality of the West. 
The handcuffs were taken off and shackles 
for the feet substituted, and as far as possible 
Vandane was treated with friendly courtesy. 
After some one else had "set them up" Van- 
dane took his turn. "I've got five dollars of 
this world's gear left ; 't ain't of much use, I 
reckon, Captain John, except in treating my 
friends" — Here the crowd interrupted him 
with cries of "Bravo! That's comin' down 
right handsome." 

[ 184 ] 



A Race for Life 
It was a merry Sunday evening revel ; they 
drank to each other's health and good luck, 
clinking glasses with a violence which exhi- 
bited their exuberance of spirits. There was 
a deafening din of voices as they partook of 
cove oysters, crackers and sardines, — a sump- 
tuous repast for men who commonly sat down 
to corn-dodger and bacon. And, too, had they 
not an all-night job on hand? A few hours 
of sleep would have been much more to the 
liking of the majority of these men than 
remounting their horses, but Captain John's 
spirits and endurance only increased with each 
draught. The final Olympian game of walking 
a crack was sufficiently difficult for the two 
who essayed to do it. To bind the prisoner was 
the next thing in order, after which he was led 
away to the horses, followed by an applaud- 
ing crowd. The remaining three at length suc- 
ceeded in bringing their curves and abrupt 
angles to the desired focus, and when once in 
the saddle were again masters of the situation. 
With numerous congratulations, a few cheers 
[ 185] 



Smith of Bear City 
and an abundance of hiccoughs from the by- 
standers, Vandane and his captors started off. 
The threatening storm delayed, but the 
inky darkness was a matter of indifference 
to men who were famihar with the road and 
could beguile the weary march with bacchana- 
lian songs. Twelve o'clock came. They turned 
from the highway, entered a thicket and rode 
for a quarter of a mile farther. The escort 
then alighted, hitched all the horses save 
the one Vandane rode, and began to ascend 
the hill of the Six Sleepers. It was an abrupt, 
precipitous elevation, commanding a view of 
the surrounding country far and wide. Up- 
on the summit grew a large, majestic oak, 
the solitary sign of life the desolate hilltop 
afforded; destitute of leaves, its apparently 
dead condition seemed a fitting framework 
for its ghastly burden. A fire was kindled, 
and by its lurid glare could be seen the whi- 
tening bones of six swinging skeletons which 
gave forth a rattling sound amid the swaying 
branches. Whoever finished his course here 
[186] 



A Race for Life 
would have no grave to be visited and cared 
for by friendly hands ; even rest, the heritage 
of death, was denied, and his bruised and 
broken frame would be the prey of the ele- 
ments. 

The drum-head council was convened. The 
court required no preliminary examination; 
the plain, undisputed facts were stated by 
Captain John; no sophistical lawyers could 
have influenced this determined jury. The 
question was thus put by Captain John, the 
finest poker player in the group: "Vandane 
has anteed; shall we cover him?" There was 
an instant response of "Yes," and the verdict 
was fully settled. 

"If you think I am going to beg for my 
life, you are mistaken. I wouldn't ask a 
blamed favour of one of you. I did steal that 
horse, and I did ask for honest work of Cap- 
tain John, but he'd rather I'd have starved 
than give me the cobs left by his mules. The 
favours I have to ask will be before a more 
merciful Judge than you fellows." And down 
[ 187 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

on his knees fell Vandane, for the first time in 
many years, entreating mercy for a heart- 
broken mother, who, he prayed, might never 
know to what end her boy came; then with 
childlike simplicity he repeated the prayer 
of all childhood, "Now I lay me," adding, 
" He who trumped a dying thief eighteen hun- 
dred years ago I reckon will pull me through. 
I 'd like to do a little scratching out of the past, 
but it's too late to dicker with that now." 

Some of the executioners gave signs of 
weakening, but not Captain John. " Boys, the 
time 's auspicious for his going ; we won't 
give him a chance to steal the next horse he 
sees." 

There was a moment's silence, broken only 
by the sighing of the wind and the creaking 
of the branches, and then was heard Captain 
John's "All ready. Good luck to you, and may 
you have a pleasant journey. Climb into the 
saddle and stand up when you get under the 
tree." 

The horse was led under the oak, a rope 
[ 188 ] 



A Race for Life 
having been previously fastened to the limb, 
and the fatal knot was adjusted. 

II 

'^'But if thou shouldst he dragged in scorn 
To yonder ignominious tree, 
Thou shall not want one faithful friend 
To share the cruel fate's decree." 

Shenstone 

The sitting-room of the Great Western Ho- 
tel was thronged with people. Men and wo- 
men, principally residents of the town, had 
gathered there, as was their wont when any- 
thing of special interest had occurred. Van- 
dane's career, past, present and future, was 
the subject under discussion, and all seemed 
eminently satisfied with the course recent 
events had taken. Law was too slow a me- 
thod for the active, enterprising West, espe- 
cially when any inducements were offered to 
the venal courts or guards. 

The door opened and an old lady, evi- 
dently wearied from travelling, entered. With 
a troubled look she eagerly scanned the faces 
[ 189] 



Smith of Bear City 

about her, but seemed not to find what she 
sought. The conversation, which for a mo- 
ment had ceased, was resumed. 

"A more onery, trifling dog I never set 
eyes on. Steal? That's no name for it. It 
must be nigh onto ten years since he first 
appeared in these parts, and you can bet 
your last drop of liquor it '11 be more than 
ten before he 's seen again." 

In turn and out of turn similar testimo- 
nials of character were furnished. 

"What was this man's name that you are 
talking about?" asked the new-comer. 

"George Vandane was what he said, but 
his say was n't always very reliable," was the 
response. 

"Had he sandy hair, a Roman nose, blue 
eyes and a gash over one of them ? " she asked. 

" 'Pears to me he wa'n't unbeknown to you. 
Sorry if we crowded your feelings, but that 
subscription fills the bill exactly." 

"ISIy son, oh, my sonl He was a good lit- 
tle boy, but I knew he had gone wrong. Ten 
[ 190 ] 



A Race for Life 

long years I have searched for him, and looked 
into every hardened face I've met." 

The mobile crowd was instantly at her ser- 
vice ; they would furnish horses, driver, guide, 
— anything she wanted. Every man who a 
few moments before had jeered and laughed 
over Vandane's prospect of death was now 
anxious to rescue him. 

The horses were soon at the door, and a 
second procession with human life at stake 
started over the lonely road. They whirled 
over the hills and splashed across the creeks, 
the anxiety and suspense of the mother in- 
creasing as they pressed onward in the dark- 
ness. 

At length they saw the gleam of the fires 
flickering on the hilltop; they passed the 
horses, and when they came within calling 
distance, a mighty shout went up: "Save 
Vandane I " 

Captain John heard what he supposed was 
a band of thieves coming to the rescue, and 
hurriedly climbing into the tree, did the deed 
[ 191 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

not given to mortal man to do. Then came 
the command, "Halt!" and he covered the 
foremost figure with his revolver. 

"Put up that gun and cut that rope in- 
stantly," was the equally determined reply. 

The rescuers cut the rope. Was there still 
breath in the body ? Was that twitching a ves- 
tige of remaining life ? They wooed life with as 
much resolve as they had a moment before 
extinguished it; but, to use Vandane's own 
words, it was too late to dicker with the past. 

A shriek pierced the darkness, followed by 
a more appalling silence during which these 
shedders of blood watched the pallid face and 
clenched hands of the mother with marked 
uneasiness. 

Suddenly the blood leaped to her face, her 
nerves grew stronger, her eyes kindled with 
an unnatural light. What was she going to 
do? What could she do for her boy? She 
could at least call down curses on his mur- 
derers. "May your hearths be as desolate as 
mine; may the earth deny you the fruits of 
[ 192 ] 



A Race for Life 

your toils; may your lips be parched with 
thirst, your flesh blistered by the summer's 
sun and frozen by the winter's cold ; may every 
passing wind be a withering dirge to your 
souls, as is this blast to mine ; may your guilty 
hearts ache with bitter remorse, your brains 
reel beneath the weight of crime; sleep for- 
ever forsake your pillow, till oblivion would 
be sweet and memory lost awished-for boon !" 

Her voice had the weird ring of prophecy, 
and these strong men, whom nothing had be- 
fore daunted, covered their ears as if to ward 
off these direful imprecations. 

The mother had fallen to the ground, but 
the mark of death was upon her. Then rousing 
herself, with a tenderer look overspreading 
her face, she said, as if to herself: "These are 
some mothers' sons," and then louder, "No, 
no, I mustn't; I leave you in God's hands." 

The thunder had ceased to roll, the wind 
died away, and the wan moonlight filtered 
through the sullen clouds, giving promise of 
a brighter morning. 

[ 193 ] 



Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 



If one were to write up an average New 
England town, it would mainly be "annals 
of a quiet neighbourhood ; " the proudest re- 
cord would be that of the boys she had sent 
out to college, who later had answered the call 
of their country's need, whether in war, busi- 
ness or legislative halls. 

In contrast I am going to record some of 
the happenings in one of our Western towns 
in frontier days. Billy the Kid, its most noto- 
rious prisoner, has a world-wide reputation. 
But first let us look at some of the every-day 
doings of the every-day people. 

Jimmy Moorhead was a whiskey drummer 
of genial ways and hot temper. His business 
associates were the desperate men of the bor- 
der; his social friends the best citizens of the 
towns. Now one day Jimmy Moorhead ar- 
rived at Las Vegas, went to the St. Nicholas 
Hotel and, finding the usual array of poor 
[195] 



Smith of Bear City 

food set before him, called for eggs, little 
dreaming that the innocent request had in it 
the germ of a fatal tragedy which was to 
prove his undoing. 

Allen, the waiter, refused to order any 
more eggs cooked that night. A warfare of 
words ensued, but Allen carried his point, 
and Moorhead was obliged to satisfy his hun- 
ger as best he could from the dishes before 
him. 

The next day, in the presence of Deacon 
Sanford, the chief clerk and the one redeem- 
ing feature of the hotel, whose title was due 
to his New England origin, Moorhead took 
occasion to express his opinion of the menials 
employed by the hotel, and of Allen in par- 
ticular. Deacon Sanford tried to soothe the 
irate guest, and ordered Allen to go to the 
kitchen. "I'll go," said Allen, "but at some 
later date I may return." As soon as he could 
borrow the cook's revolver he did return and, 
pointing it at Moorhead, demanded an apo- 
logy on bended knees. Moorhead was not the 
[196] 



Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 

man to give that, and as they parried words 
Moorhead kept advancing towards his antag- 
onist, thinking he might knock the weapon 
from Allen's hand. Allen fired, and Moorhead 
fell, mortally wounded. Life was held cheap 
in those days, and Moorhead's chief regret 
was over the manner of his departure. 

Allen's own death was quite in keeping 
with his life; indeed, one fancies that such 
men would almost consider it beneath their 
dignity to die a natural death. But the peace- 
fully inclined were hardly more immune than 
others, as the occasion for the confinement 
of Allen's companion in death shows. 

He was a drunken Texan who created a 
disturbance in Charles Ilfield's store. The lat- 
ter ordered him to leave the premises, to 
which the Texan replied that if he was not 
to be allowed a shot at* any one in the store 
he would try his hand at the fellow across 
the way, and an unoffending hack driver fell 
dead. This murderer was confined in the same 
jail with Allen. A friendship sprang up be- 
[ 197 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
tween them which culminated in their escape. 
They were pursued, however, and shot by the 
sherifFs posse. There were rumours that the 
officials connived at their escape in order that 
they might be shot and no questions asked, 
and all bother of lawyers, judge and jury be 
avoided. No graves were dug, and nothing 
marked their last resting-place save the howl- 
ing of the coyotes. 

The office of city marshal was not an en- 
viable one in those sanguinary times, and 
brave and fearless men lost their lives in try- 
ing to protect the lives of others. Some peo- 
ple will remember Marshal Carson of Las 
Vegas. Certain cow-boys claimed that they 
had been robbed in the gambling-hall of Close 
and Patterson, and threatened trouble. One 
evening when Carson and Ruddebaugh were 
in the saloon to protect it, the lights suddenly 
went out and shooting began which did not 
end until two of the cow-boys had been seri- 
ously wounded, the other three had fled, and 
Carson lay dead. A posse under command of 
[198] 



Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 
Webb and Bill Goodlet captured the three 
cow-boys and put them in jail, but that very 
night a mob seized them and they were 
hanged from the windmill on the public plaza. 

With liquor flowing hke water, and with 
every one carrying firearms, life was precari- 
ous for all classes and conditions, innocent as 
well as guilty. The first man hanged in Las 
Vegas by the vigilantes was the owner of a 
very bad gun. His version of the story was 
that as he and a companion were leaving a 
house, where they had been visiting, his gun 
accidentally went off and killed his friend, 
who was walking behind him. In horror, he 
flung his hands behind him, and again the 
gun went off", killing one of the women stand- 
ing in the door of the house they had just 
left. The authorities decided that the world 
would be well rid of the owner of so bad a 
gun. 

The record of these men, however, is quite 
dwarfed when we come to consider that of 
Billy the Kid. Whether he was ambitious to 
[ 199] 



Smith of Bear City 

have the deaths at his hands keep pace with 
his years, we do not know, but at the age of 
twenty-six he had killed twenty-seven men. 
He seems not to have known the "honour 
among thieves," for when he was pursued 
after having killed his jailer he displayed the 
white flag, and when the posse came near to 
receive his surrender he shot the entire band. 
At that time there lived in Las Vegas a 
man by the name of Stewart; he was em- 
ployed by some of the large cattle compa- 
nies to prevent the stealing of the animals 
and their shipment out of the country. Stew- 
art was a fine shot and fearless, and had been 
mainly instrumental in the extirpation of the 
Stockton gang of "cattle rustlers." He was 
deputized to capture Billy the Kid, and took 
with him Webb, Mysterious Dave Matthews, 
Ruddebaugh and Bill Goodlet, — each one 
of them a man-hunter with a death record 
established. When the Kid was surrounded, 
and learned who were his captors, he offered 
to surrender provided that Stewart would 
[ 200 ] 



Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 
promise not to turn him over to the authori- 
ties at Las Vegas, but agree to place him 
safely in the Santa Fe jail. Stewart accepted 
the terms. When the news was telegraphed 
that Billy was captured and that he was to be 
taken to Santa Fe, the sheriff at Las Vegas 
determined to gain possession of him and see 
that he was punished for the cruel murders of 
the citizens of San Miguel County. When the 
train arrived at Las Vegas the sheriff and his 
deputies demanded the Kid. For an hour the 
train was delayed while the sheriff's demand 
was repeatedly refused. Finally Stewart an- 
nounced that he had given his word of honour 
to Billy, and he proposed to keep it. "Billy 
surrendered on one condition," he added, 
"and if you propose to make that condition 
null and void, all I can do is to give Billy 
back his gun and turn him loose, and you 
can come and take him." The ghostly array 
of Billy's numerous victims rose before the 
sheriff, who had a decided repugnance to be- 
coming a "has-been," and he immediately de- 
[ 201 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

cided that he did not want Billy after all. So 
Stewart delivered his prisoner to the keeper 
of the jail in Santa Fe. The story of Billy's 
escape and the killing of his two guards while 
awaiting trial in Lincoln County, New JMex- 
ico, and of his pursuit and death at the hands 
of the brave Pat Garrett, whom President 
Roosevelt appointed collector of the port at 
El Paso, has been told by others. 

Stewart's capture of the Kid made him 
very popular, but the formerly modest, quiet, 
determined citizen began to develop the bra- 
vado and lawlessness characteristic of the bad 
element on the frontier. One Saturday even- 
ing Mr. Hopper, a leading merchant of Las 
Vegas, and JNlr. Hopkins, cashier of the San 
JMiguel National Bank, were engaged in 
quite a merry conversation, when Stewart 
approached and charged them with laughing 
at him, for he was slightly intoxicated and 
had awkwardly stumbled. They explained 
and apologized, but Stewart said that he 
would accept their apology only on the con- 
[ 202 ] 



Some Inmates of Las Vegas Jail 

dition that they would both go and take, a 
drink with him at Close and Patterson's dance 
hall. Mr. Hopper, who was a prominent mem- 
ber and leader in the JNIethodist church, cour- 
teously declined; but Mr. Hopkins, seeing 
the dangerous temper Stewart was beginning 
to show, concluded it best to stop further ar- 
gument by assuring him that nothing would 
please them better than to drink to the health 
of their friend Stewart. Hopper held back, 
until the drawing of a self-cocking revolver 
served to hasten his steps. When he arrived 
at the bar he would fain have taken lemonade, 
but nothing would satisfy the watchful eye 
of Stewart but the draining of a full glass of 
whiskey to the bottom. 

Hopper was a man of great courage and 
not afraid to stand for truth and right; he 
was also larger and stronger than Stewart and 
could have easily overpowered him, but he 
scorned to use mere brute force, and showed 
by his action his real moral strength. 

The following Sunday there was a meet- 
[ 203 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

ing of the best citizens of Las Vegas, and 
Mr. Hopper announced his intention of hav- 
ing Stewart arrested and such action taken 
as would ensure peace in the future. A bit of 
the old honour came back to Stewart on hear- 
ing of this, and he went to Mr. Hopper and 
duly apologized, and thus ended all trouble 
with Mr. Stewart. 



[ 204 ] 



Vehicles for the Living and Dead 



1 iME was hanging heavily on our hands one 
evening as we sat around the fire in a coun- 
try hotel, when the conversation turned on 
vehicles and queer combinations of motive 
power. 

"There is one claim that I can make for 
my beloved Sunflower State," said Landlord 
Barns, of Gypsum City, Kansas, "and that 
is that no state ever had the privilege of see- 
ing so great a variety of wheeled vehicles as 
Kansas." 

"And 1 11 warrant," broke in one of the 
guests, "that the most exciting teams it ever 
saw were those ponderous overland coaches 
with wild broncos rushing madly through 
the towns, and then going at a snail's pace 
between stations on the prairies." 

" Well," continued the next man, " I don't 
want to see any more crazy-looking outfit 
than an ox and a mule hitched to a 'ship of 
[ 205 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

the desert' bound for Colorado from Arkan- 
sas, with a woman and four children walking 
behind, and the old man and five more chil- 
dren lying inside sick with chills." 

"Yes," continued his neighbour, "I've seen 
all of these things, and I 've seen carryalls so 
ancient and decrepit, with their owners headed 
for 'Pike's Peak or bust,' that our Jerry Simp- 
son would n't have dared risk his life in one 
of them from station to speaker's stand when 
on a lecturing tour and anxious for conspic- 
uous humility." 

"All this is very true," said the landlord, 
"but the next minute you will see some of our 
cattle kings in carriages as fine as any of New 
York's Four Hundred. 

"For an out-and-out unique family car- 
riage, the chief of the Pottawottomies carries 
off the palm," continued Mr. Brown, who had 
thus far remained silent. "I used to know of 
a queer old character in New England of a 
thrifty turn of mind who carried his vegeta- 
bles to market in the hearse when his services 
[ 206 ] 



Vehicles for the Living and Dead 
would be needed on the return trip as its 
driver; but the Indian chief beat that. He 
wanted the best and most convenient family 
carriage that could be found, and decided that 
Kansas was the place to find it. The owner 
of the largest carriage emporium in CofFey- 
ville had as ornate and varied an assortment 
as the most critical buyer could wish. The flu- 
ent salesman showed the almost endless va- 
riety of carriages and expounded lucidly upon 
the style, convenience and luxurious ease of 
each particular vehicle save one. Why should 
the salesman ignore this commodious, shin- 
ing, four-plumed carriage ? Did he think it too 
fine for the chief? The latter would let him 
know that the best was none too good for 
him. The clerk was in despair; nothing suited. 
At length the Indian walked up in front of 
the only vehicle that had not been loudly 
recommended and asked its price. The sales- 
man's eyes sparkled with fun; at last his cus- 
tomer was manifesting interest and admira- 
tion.' Costs a heap of money,' replied the clerk, 
[ 207 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

*but I can honestly say that we have never 
had any complaints of bad roads or poor 
springs from any one who ever rode inside of 
it, and a great many famiUes have hired it. 
You can see all the sights through the glass 
windows; and just try that easy seat on the 
outside, and notice the abundance of room on 
the inside for the squaw and papooses; and 
then when you get tired and sleepy, you can 
just stretch out at full length inside and take 
a nap.' 

"The trade was closed, and the chief was 
very proud of his purchase. In pleasant 
weather he rode on the outside, and when it 
was stormy he would get inside with his 
family. The Pottawottomies were very proud 
of their chief, and delighted in the atten- 
tion he always received whenever he left the 
reservation for a carriage ride through Kan- 
sas. The merry crowd which followed him 
through the towns and cities was positive 
proof to them of their chiefs popularity, and 
also of the excellent judgement he had shown 
[ 208 ] 



Vehicles for the Living and Dead 

in the selection of an appropriate means of 
transportation. 

"Many years have passed since the pur- 
chase of the hearse, — the plumes are rusty, 
the glass is broken, and the paint is nearly 
worn off; but its owner is as proud of it as 
ever, and the wayside admirers are as numer- 
ous. The chief has had much comfort and 
pleasure from his carriage during his lifetime, 
and I am sure that when he dies his numerous 
friends and sorrowful relatives will find some 
consolation in giving him a final ride in it." 

Whoever changes that which is fraught 
with sorrow and mourning into an instrument 
of usefulness and happiness surely has contri- 
buted to the sum total of humanity's comfort. 

"Mr. Brown has distanced all of us, I am 
sure, in the way of stories, and my only claim 
on your attention is that while with most of 
us our first ride in a hearse is our last one, 
and this, too, a slow and measured one, I am 
an exception, for I have already had my 
hearse ride, and that a lively, exciting one. 
[ 209 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

"My friend, Judge Phillips, of St. Louis, 
was making his first visit to New Orleans, 
and I was showmg him the many places of 
interest in that quaint city. On Sunday 
morning we took the street-car to visit the 
battle-field of New Orleans and the Federal 
Cemetery. After leaving the car we walked 
south on that beautiful road along the Mis- 
sissippi River and passed the fine old plan- 
tations with the moss-covered trees and the 
attractive colonial houses, the homes of the 
cultivated and wealthy classes at the time 
when General Jackson was commander of 
the Southern army. We enjoyed the scenery, 
and for the first time beheld, as it were, ships 
in the air, as the levee forced the water in the 
river much higher than the level of the sur- 
rounding country. We wandered over the 
battle-field and saw where the English Gen- 
eral Packenham died in the hour of his de- 
feat, and with pride and wonder recalled the 
events connected with that brilliant battle 
won by the Tennessee hero. 
[ 210 ] 



Vehicles for the Living and Dead 

"From the battle-field we went to the 
Federal Cemetery. Judge Phillips had served 
in the Union army, and was glad to find an 
old comrade in the superintendent of the 
cemetery. We started on a walk through the 
grounds, but it began to rain and we were 
compelled to return to the office. 

" 'A soldier has just been brought in for 
burial,' said the superintendent. 'There is a 
back seat on the hearse, and if the driver has 
not left the grounds he will give you a ride 
to the street-car.' 

"We gratefully assented and climbed into 
the seat at the rear end of the hearse. We 
had driven only a short distance when we 
saw two cow-boys behind us loping their 
horses at full speed and rushing a long-horned 
Texas steer. They gained rapidly on us. The 
steer evidently did not like our looks, for 
he brandished his horns and shook his head 
savagely as though meditating a charge upon 
us and the hearse. The judge and I agreed 
that it would be much pleasanter to be in- 
[211 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

side, if we could only get there, but we did 
not dare to make that kind of a sortie of 
defence with an enemy liable to impale us 
on his horns before we could gain a place of 
safety inside the hearse. Our driver whipped 
his horse into a fast gallop. The cow-boys 
urged on the steer. The situation was grow- 
ing more exciting each moment. However, 
our driver showed himself a strategist of a 
high order. He lashed his horse as if he hoped 
to distance our foe from Texas. This caused 
an increase of speed on the part of the pur- 
suers. Then the driver quickly turned his 
horse to the side of the road and the steer 
darted ahead of us. The cow-boys' fun was 
over. We reached the car station in safety 
and bade the driver farewell with many 
thanks. 

"That night at dinner Judge Phillips, 
raising his glass to his lips, offered this toast: 
'Dear boy, may the time be long and the 
years happy before we take our next ride in 
a hearse.'" 

[ 212 ] 



A Night at Rincon 



One dollar a night for a bed for a live man, 
five dollars for a dead man," w^ere the hotel 
prices conspicuously posted in the office. I 
stood aghast. I was a live man now, but what 
or where I might be before morning it seemed 
was a matter of conjecture. 

I knew that Rincon was known as the "city 
of toughs," and I had been a little prepared 
for what my reception might be by the ex- 
perience of Charlie Palmer, a friend of mine. 
Charlie was a dapper little fellow, and as he 
dismounted from the stage on his first visit to 
Rincon he took pains to show that he carried 
a handsome ivory-handled pistol, which pistol 
was immediately taken possession of by a man 
named Chubb, who, thinking Palmer a little 
too dudish for the frontier, remarked that it 
was a pretty little plaything, but no good for a 
man. "Am just as much obliged to you; my 
little girl will like it." CharHe looked at his 
[ 213 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

pistol and looked at Chubb, who he felt sure 
would not hesitate to kill him for mere pas- 
time, and summoning all the suavity he could, 
said, "Excuse me, I thought that pistol was 
mine." 

"So it was," said Chubb, "until you gave 
it to me ; but if you want it back, I '11 give it 
to you," and he cocked the pistol. 

"Excuse me," said Palmer, "that might 
go off. Just keep it. I never did like pistols 
anyway." 

The hotel was a small one-story building, 
and contained an office which also served as 
a sitting-room, a dining-room and a sleeping- 
room with forty beds in it. The town could 
boast of two stores, fifty saloons, two dance- 
halls and a hotel, and more bunco men to the 
square foot than any other place in America. 

It was about noon when we arrived, and we 
were obliged to stay until the following morn- 
ing, when the construction train was to leave 
for the north. I strolled about the town after 
dinner, but concluded that it would be the 
[ 214 ] 



A Night at Rincon 

part of wisdom to remain indoors after night- 
faU. 

The landlord and his wife were worthy, 
pleasant people, but there were so few other 
respectable persons in the town that I won- 
dered how they could endure their surround- 
ings, particularly as the dance-hall women 
took their meals at the hotel and there was 
much more of frontier than of polite language 
heard about the house. However, I soon per- 
ceived that having eyes they saw not, and 
having ears they heard not. "I am thankful 
every day of my life that we came to Rincon," 
was my landlady's reply to an inquiry of 
mine. " My husband was a street-car conductor 
on the Fifth Street line in St. Louis, and he 
never looked into the faces of his children by 
daylight. Struggle as best we could, we could 
not lay up anything for a rainy day. Here 
we get a dollar for every meal, and we could 
rent more beds if we had them, and in a few 
months more we can go back to Missouri and 
buy a good farm and stock it with the best 
[ 215 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

of everything and have money in the bank 
besides. 

"To be sure," she continued, "the first man 
I saw killed when Milt Yarberry and Morgan 
fell out and went to shooting in my dining- 
room made me a little panicky for fear that the 
bullets might get round my way, but now we 
are used to it and don't mind it in the least. 
My man and I learned the second day after 
our arrival that we must mind our own busi- 
ness and let the bunco men mind theirs, and 
pay no attention to a shooting-match further 
than to recognize that it is the fashion of our 
society, which we cannot regulate and must 
not disturb." 

She entertained me with various society 
events which generally terminated fatally to 
one or more of the participants, until I grew 
sleepy and asked the landlord which bed I 
should occupy. "Any one you wish, dear boy. 
We change the linen all round once a week. 
Torrid Tommy, who was killed this morning 
just before your arrival, is occupying the bed 
[ 216 1 



A Night at Rincon 

near the north window, waiting for his coffin 
to come in. Perhaps you would prefer not to 
camp by him." 

I selected the second bed on the south 
side, placed my clothes on a chair, laid my 
"long tom" on the outside of my bed, and was 
just dropping off to sleep when a drunken man 
reeled into the room and, coming up to my 
bed, said, '*Pard,have a drink." I feigned sleep, 
but seizing me by the shoulder, he persisted, 
"Old boy, have something." In rather strong 
language I gave him to understand that he 
must leave me alone. He looked at my gun, 
and catching sight of the other occupied bed, 
remarked, "No offence, pard. If you don't 
mind, I will invite our friend across the way." 
Standing near the dead man, he extended 
the same invitation. Receiving no response, he 
took hold of him. " Gracious me! how cold you 
are, old boy ! A drink will warm you up. Say, 
just take one with me." Still getting no an- 
swer, he pulled off the sheet, disclosing the shot 
in the head that had ended the fray. " Holy 
[ 217 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

Moses 1 You are perfectly excusable for not 
taking a drink. Well, here goes ; I '11 do the 
honours for us both. Here 's to you," he said, 
as he took a long pull at the bottle, "and 
here 's to me," and he took another vigorous 
hold of the flask and drained it. "Well," he 
soliloquized, "you and I won't quarrel to- 
night ; I am kinder tired, and if you don't ob- 
ject, I '11 take this bed right near you." 

He was a long time undressing, counted his 
money and fumbled over his clothes in con- 
cealing it, so that I was almost asleep when 
he finally got into bed. 

Suddenly I heard a scream, " Murder 1 
Stop, thief 1" Was I dreaming? No, that was 
surely a real pair of heels disappearing out of 
the window. The thief had seized the drunken 
man's clothes and escaped, the latter firing 
one aimless shot from my gun. The landlord 
and the guests rushed in to learn the cause 
of the uproar, but found only a poor drunken 
man bemoaning his scanty outfit. 

It certainly was no time to sleep with such 
[ 218 ] 



A Night at Rincon 

stirring events in progress. I put my clothes 
under the mattress and waited for develop- 
ments. 

About midnight the construction train 
came in, bringing the box for the dead man, 
and we watched the gruesome proceedings. 
I welcomed with delight the first streak of 
light in the eastern sky. The night had not 
been such as to stimulate a very ravenous 
appetite for breakfast, and I was glad indeed 
when we pulled out of Rincon. One man who 
had planned to journey with us was left be- 
hind, as without clothes or money travelling 
is inconvenient. We left him sitting up in bed 
cursing the town and all New Mexico. How 
long he thus remained I do not know, for the 
next time I was in Rincon there was nothing 
to tell the story of former life and activity but 
tin cans and deserted buildings. 



[ 219 ] 



Some Incidents of Early Days 
in New Albuquerque, New Mexico 



rLARLY one morning in 1881 three riders 
armed to the teeth might have been seen 
starting from Algadonis for the south. A 
fourth man, all unknown to them, was arm- 
ing himself with no less effective weapons, — 
minute calculations as to their probable de- 
stination and the length of time required to 
reach it. 

The leader of the three was Allison, a fear- 
less highwayman who had become so bold in 
his murders and hold-ups, even to the robbing 
of mails unmasked, that a large reward had 
been offered for his capture, dead or alive. 
Allison had established a reputation for 
generosity by a lavish use of his ill-gotten 
gains, and could always depend upon friends 
to supply him with food and necessary in- 
formation when he deemed it wise to go into 
hiding in the mountain fastnesses. But now, 
[ 221 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
all things considered, he felt that safety lay 
in leaving that part of the country for a sea- 
son. 

The fourth man was the deputy sheriff 
from Alamosa, Colorado, who concluded from 
evidence gathered that the ultimate destina- 
tion of the three men was either New or Old 
Mexico, and that they would stop at Berna- 
lillo on their way thither. If this should prove 
true, he could anticipate their arrival there 
by rail. He started immediately, arriving 
at Bernalillo early the next morning, and 
found, as he expected, that nothing had yet 
been seen of the men. However, he was 
hardly seated at the breakfast-table at the 
hotel when he heard the tramp of horses and 
the rattling of spurs, and presently Allison 
and his two friends took seats opposite him 
at the table. It seemed, he said, as if they 
would hear his heart beat, and that his voice 
must certainly betray him as he returned 
their "Good morning." He well knew that 
instant death awaited him if they should in 
[ 222 ] 



Early Days in New Albuquerque 

any way suspect him. They scrutinized him 
closely, and seemingly were satisfied, for they 
fell to eating with a good will. The appetite 
of the deputy, however, was gone, and his 
one desire was to get out of range of their 
guns as soon as possible. Presently he walked 
out of the office with as much unconcern as 
he could muster, only to find that he had left 
his hat in the dining-room. It seemed as if 
he could not face those searching eyes a sec- 
ond time, but to walk the streets bareheaded 
would certainly excite more suspicion, and 
he went calmly back and got his hat. The 
men again eyed him intently, and apparently 
were again satisfied that they had nothing to 
fear from him. 

The sheriff* walked rapidly out of the vil- 
lage on to the mesa, where he could command 
a good view of the stage route, and awaited 
developments. Three hours he stayed there 
and no sign of any rider. At last he was re- 
warded by seeing the three start off* on the 
road to Albuquerque. Then the silent watcher 
[ 223 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

hurried to the telegraph office and wired the 
sheriff at Albuquerque that Allison and two 
confederates, heavily armed, were on their 
way south. 

Prefecto Armijo, the sheriff of Bernalillo 
County, though himself a fearless man, knew 
that he had his match in Allison, and that 
the road-agent could only be captured by 
stratagem. While holding counsel with some 
of his friends as to the best method of pro- 
cedure, a livery-stable keeper named Grant 
volunteered to bring Allison and his men into 
his stable provided Armijo would have men 
enough concealed to make the capture abso- 
lutely sure. 

Grant was able to figure very closely as to 
their probable location, and selecting one of 
his best horses, he rode rapidly northward for 
five miles on the public highway, and then 
left it, making a circle on the mesa where he 
appeared to be searching for something. He 
soon sighted the bandits, and turning his 
horse in their direction, came up to them and 
[ 224 ] 



Early Days in New Albuquerque 

said, "Good morning, boys." 

"Good morning yourself," they replied. 
"Have you seen anything of a white-faced 
cayuse with a side-saddle on, but no bridle?" 
he asked. "You see, I keep a livery-stable in 
Albuquerque. Yesterday a woman hired the 
horse. She fastened him by the bridle, and 
that fool of a horse just pulled off his bridle 
and skipped for parts unknown." 

"We have seen nothing of your horse," 
rephed Allison. 

"Well," said Grant, "then there is no use 
in my going farther north. I guess I will 
journey awhile with you boys if you have 
no objection." 

Grant became quite communicative and 
told them that he had a contract to supply 
some teams to the Mexican Central Railroad 
contractors, and that he was very anxious to 
hire a few more men to help him deliver the 
stock in l^lexico as agreed. Allison mani- 
fested considerable interest. Legitimate oc- 
cupation that would take them to their de- 
[ 225 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

stination would throw any pursuers off the 
track and materially aid their escape. Grant's 
offer of wages was hberal and the board to 
be found on their travels most satisfactory, 
so Allison and his men came to a speedy 
agreement with him. 

"So far so good," thought Grant, "but I 
do not like the looks of those Winchester 
rifles and the determined men who carry 
them." 

As they reached a little adobe house near 
the town of New Albuquerque, where one 
of the employees of the livery-stable lived, 
Grant said, "Boys, we've got pretty strict 
laws here against carrying guns, and Milt 
Yarberry, our city marshal, is the devil and 
Tom Walker and arrests every chap carrying 
them openly. So my advice to you is to leave 
your Winchesters here with my man's wife, 
and as soon as it's dark I'll send out and get 
them for you." 

Allison and his companions cheerfully ac- 
quiesced. The problem now was how to get 
[ 226 ] 



Early Days in New Albuquerque 
the pistols out of the way, — for every man 
carried his pistol. When within about a block 
of the stable the owner stopped his horse and 
said, "Do you see that tall chap on the side- 
walk, with a badge on and a belt full of car- 
tridges ? That is Marshal Milt Yarberry. Bet- 
ter button up your coats so that he does n't 
see those revolvers." Then, as they came up 
to the stable, Grant said, "Boys, drive right 
in. My men will take charge of the horses." 

Ten Winchesters gleamed in the air, and 
Allison and his gang had taken their turn in 
obeying the order, "Hold up your hands!" 
They were captives, and turning to Grant, Al- 
lison said, "You cowardly cur, if you hadn't 
got me to button up my coat I'd have had 
the satisfaction of filling you full of lead." 

We must add a word in regard to Mar- 
shal Milt Yarberry, for this day sealed his fate. 
During the afternoon some trouble arose 
over the killing of a dog; the usual shooting 
followed, and another was added to the list 
slain by Yarberry. The citizens were eager 
[ 227 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
to hang him on the spot, but ex-Governor 
Stover argued that they could ill afford to 
lose so vigilant and daring a marshal. How- 
ever, although he was given a fair trial, the 
verdict was against him, and he was hanged. 



[ 228 ] 



A Night Ride 
in the Deadwood Coach 



1 HE man who always trusts to the luck of 
the moment had ensconced himself in the 
outside seat of the Deadwood coach beside 
the driver, which I had taken the precaution 
to secure a day in advance at Sidney, Ne- 
braska. I told him it was my seat. In reply he 
showed me a belt full of cartridges, and sat 
still. The agent, however, was more successful 
and I mounted to my place. His two com- 
panions on the inside of the coach handed 
out a gallon of whiskey as a panacea for his 
ruffled feelings, and gave me to understand 
what my position was by scrupulously omit- 
ting me each time it was passed. The prospect 
of companionable company for the ride was 
not encouraging, but I was not afraid, and 
when we stopped for dinner and I had my turn 
at the solitary tin wash-basin, I took off my 
coat to bring my firearms into prominence, 
[ 229 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

feeling sure that I should rise in the estima- 
tion of my fellow-travellers if they saw that I 
too was prepared for all possible emergencies. 
We jogged along through an uneventful 
day. After supper the would-be usurper of 
my seat asked the driver to be allowed a place 
on the outside, as the motion of the coach 
was making him sick. The driver assented. 
As he climbed up to the dickey seat above 
and behind the driver, I caught a familiar 
look in his face, and felt sure that this was 
not our first meeting. He was now suffi- 
ciently intoxicated to be communicative, and 
I said to him, "Pard, I believe I have seen 
you before." He evidently considered that 
"not to know me argues yourself unknown," 
for he proceeded to inform me that in the 
early days of Albuquerque, New Mexico, he 
was the boss, the high priest of the cyclone, 
the big chief of the whole country. Such titles 
seem to have been gained, not by his having 
added to the material prosperity of the town, 
but by having taken from the number of its 
[ 230 ] 



The Deadwood Coach 

citizens, as I learned from the account of his 
various claims to distinction. When I told 
him that I also had lived in Albuquerque 
in the early days, his astonishment knew no 
bounds. "What, you don't know my name! 
Just let me nudge your memory for a min- 
ute. Do you remember a gentleman — that's 
me — that got into a shooting scrape with 
two of the meanest whelps that ever drew 
breath — them's the other fellows — and shot 
them, and accidentally killed a stranger on 
the sidewalk?" 

" What was the name of the man you ac- 
cidentally killed on the sidewalk?" I asked, 
thinking my chances better for remembering 
one who was not acquainted with my present 
companion. 

"Really, I forgot to ask," was the reply. 
"It's strange you can't place a prominent 
citizen like me. My name's Charhe Pierce, 
a born gentleman. Do I look like a road- 
agent?" 

"Certainly not, Mr. Pierce," I replied, 
[ 231 ] 



Smith of Bear City 
thinking polite acquiescence the wisest pol- 
icy, for the man had the eyes of a murderer 
and teeth like the tusks of a wild boar. He 
looked as if every inch of him was capable of 
any villainy known to the frontier. 

" It takes a gentleman to recognize a gen- 
tleman. But do you know that John Watts, 
cashier of the Second National Bank of 
Santa F^, swore in open court that he re- 
cognized me despite the disguise when the 
east-bound coach was robbed between Santa 
Fe and Las Vegas? But I had a good friend 
in Webb, — there's a gentleman for you, — 
formerly city marshal of Las Vegas, who was 
afterwards sentenced to be hung, but broke 
jail and got away, God bless him, for I 'd be 
breaking rock now if he had n't come and 
confessed to the plain, unvarnished truth that 
he did it and I wasn't there. Webb was a 
noble man. He had n't been tried for his last 
supposed murder, but he knew that he was 
in for it on that, but would rather be tried for 
holding up the stage, so on the stand he con- 
[ 232 ] 



The Deadwood Coach 
fessed to the hold-up of the stage, and said 
that his companions were Dave Ruddebaugh 
and Big Jim Donahue. The honest jury was 
convinced, and I was free. 

"When the judge turned me loose, I made 
up my mind to go and kill John Watts, but 
my friends declared it would n't be prudent 
just yet, and so I 've waited. Have you seen 
him lately?" 

"Yes," I rephed, "I saw Mr. Watts in his 
bank last month, looking hale and hearty." 

" Oh, how I 'd like to meet him and have 
it out I" The wicked gleam in Pierce's eyes 
assured one that it would go hard with the 
banker in case of such an encounter. 

But the "noble Webb" stood high in 
Charlie's estimation, and he seemed to take 
the same delight in recounting the part the 
marshal had played in the various robberies, 
murders and other crimes committed by his 
confiding friends that old soldiers and sailors 
do in rehearsing the scenes of their battles. 

We got to talking about the Cheyenne 
[ 233 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

cattle man and the time when INIysterious 
Dave Matthews, Webb, Hoodoo Brown, 

justice of the peace and coroner, and B 

S * tried to play a bunco game in Las 

Vegas and the cattle man wouldn't bet. 
"You know," said Pierce, after taking an- 
other pull at the whiskey jug, "that I was 
an innocent faro dealer, and the boys knew 
that I was square and never went back on 
my friends, so they used to tell me about all 
the goings-on. Now that cattle chap had 
more money than he needed. The boys 
treated him right handsomely. He would 
just drink their whiskey like water, but was 
stubborn and would n't bet. Bill Dash, seeing 
that his stingy friend was n't going to give 
the boys a chance at his money, lost his 
temper and filled the man full of lead. Then 
Webb came to the rescue and said, 'Now, 
Bill, as you ain't an officer, and I am, I '11 
just say that I killed the cuss because he 

*As this man is liimig, cwd is cm acquaintance of' mine, I with- 
hold his name. 

[ 234 1 



The Deadwood Coach 
was resisting arrest.' All agreed that Webb 
was doing the proper thing, and things would 
have gone well, but Hoodoo Brown, as coro- 
ner, took possession of the effects of the de- 
ceased, promising to divide at an opportune 
season. But Hoodoo played the scoundrel on 
his friends and skipped out with all the dead 
man's money. This started an investigation 
by the citizens, and as a result Webb was 
sentenced to be hanged. But his friends were 
true and released him from jail, and he now 
rejoices in the citizenship of Old Mexico un- 
der a nom deplume. 

"Did you ever hear about the contribu- 
tion old Arny made to the boys? He was 
only secretary of New IVIexico, but this left 
him acting governor when the chief was 
away. When he had been drinking, which 
was most of the time, and you would call 
him *Mr. Arny,' he would look at you in 
an annihilating kind of way and say, 'Gov- 
ernor Arny, by G — d, sir.' Well, one day 
the boys held up the coach near Las Vegas. 
[ 235 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

Old Arny was one of the passengers. The 
day was hot and the governor was stout and 
got terribly tired holding up his hands while 
all the passengers were being searched; so 
at length he said, 'Do you know who I am?' 
No reply. A second and a third time he re- 
peated the question. Then the captain of the 
agents, who had covered him with his gun, 
said, ' Who in h — 1 are you ? ' ' Governor Arny, 
by G — d, sir,' was the prompt reply. 'Well,' 
spoke up the captain, ' if you are the gover- 
nor of New Mexico, you ought to have more 
than seventy-five dollars about you. Here, 
Jim, go through the governor again.' Four 
hundred dollars were sewed up in Amy's 
woollen shirt. 'Thank you. Governor Arny, 
by G — d,' said the captain. When the gover- 
nor reached Las Vegas, he swore out war- 
rants and arrested Big Jim Donahue twice. 
But Donahue proved an alibi. Poor Jim ! he 
was a clever fellow. 'T was a shame the way 
the mob hanged him in Santa F^; they 
did n't give him a chance for his white alley." 
[ 236 ] 



The Deadwood Coach 

"No," I responded. "I arrived in Santa F4 
before he was cut down. But Jim had killed 
one man too many." 

I had staged all through New Mexico be- 
fore the days of the railroad and was there 
when the Santa Fe road was constructed, and 
I knew about most of the murders, hold-ups 
and other dark crimes as current news, but 
never before had I been taken behind the 
scenes and shown the inner workings of such 
things. It was an intensely interesting night. 
Finally about three o'clock in the morning, 
Charlie was too drunk to talk any more, so 
he clambered down into the inside of the 
stage and went to sleep. 

We arrived for breakfast at a station near 
the old Red Cloud Indian agency. From 
there Charlie and his companions were to 
take a buckboard stage for Chadron, a new 
and at that time rough frontier town on the 
railroad line being built to the Black Hills. 
When breakfast was over I was congratulat- 
ing myself upon having had such peaceable 
[ 237 1 



Smith of Bear City 
and entertaining companions after all, when 
Charlie Pierce, who was now sober, con- 
fronted me, holding his Winchester in his 
hand in a way that emphasized his remarks, 
and said, "Pard, I was drinking pretty freely- 
last night and my tongue wagged more than 
I meant it to. You want to live long" — quite 
a pause, and he looked me boldly in the face 
— "and I want to live long, and the wisest 
thing is for you to forget that you ever saw 
me." 

"Certainly, Mr. Pierce," I quickly re- 
sponded, and assured him that I was con- 
stantly meeting people whom I never saw 
or thought of again. But Mr. Pierce did not 
so easily vanish from my mind. I could not 
place him, although I was sure that I had 
seen him before, but I knew that if I had, it 
was under another name or a no7]i de plume 
like his friend Webb. 

Some months later I arrived in Albu- 
querque, and was walking past my former 
store where on a June evening in 1881 I had 
[ 238 ] 




■J/ie ii/'eir^/fcoi'r/ ^^yrrt^A^ 



The Deadwood Coach 

seen the flash of guns when Milt Yarberry 
shot Campbell in cold blood, and when Bill 
Jones was suspected of complicity and fled 
to parts unknown that veiy night. Suddenly 
the thought of my companion on the Dead- 
wood coach flashed across my mind, and I 
knew that the Charlie Pierce of Dakota was 
the Bill Jones of New Mexico. Remember- 
ing my conversation with Mr. Pierce, I re- 
solved to keep my discovery to myself. My 
curiosity was aroused, however, and I was 
interested to learn something more about 
Bill Jones if possible. Happening to meet 
Cannon-Bail Johnny, an old frontiersman of 
unsavoury record, who proudly boasted to his 
friends that he had once been saved from be- 
ing hanged by the vigilantes by just one vote, 
I said, "Johnny, how about Bill Jones?" 

"Bill Jones!" exclaimed Johnny, with his 
face all alight; "I am just off* to find him. 
You know Bill's connections with the rob- 
beries and murders are now known, and the 
railroad company, the express company and 
[ 239 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

the territory have offered rewards amounting 
to twenty-five hundred dollars for Bill's cap- 
ture. A pard of mine has just come from the 
north. He says a man by the name of Pierce 
engaged him in considerable conversation one 
night. He'd been drinking, you know, and 
must have said a good deal more than he 
thought he was saying, for putting some of 
his remarks together my pard figured that 
this Pierce was the real Bill Jones. Not car- 
ing to look into the matter personally himself, 
and knowing my reputation, — and Bill's, — 
he friendly like passed on his observations to 
me, on the condition that I 'd divy with him. 
So I am off for the north and Bill as fast as 
I can get there." 

I was tempted to tell Johnny my own tale 
and following deductions, but discreetly re- 
frained, and only remarked that I thought he 
was pretty sure to find Bill and capture him 
if he decided to take steps in that direction. 
Johnny was certainly a formidable antagonist, 
and I felt convinced that Mr. Pierce would 
[ 240 ] 



The Deadwood Coach 

this time regret that he had talked with a less 
reticent person than myself. 

Nearly a year later, I returned from the 
Black Hills to BufFalogap, then the termi- 
nus of the Fremont, Missouri and Elkhorn 
Railroad, which was being constructed from 
the Missouri River to Deadwood. All the 
surroundings were of the frontier. The three- 
card-monte sharp was simply displaced by 
the man with the rubber ball and three 
walnut shells, and dance-halls and gambling- 
saloons were running full blast. A few min- 
utes before the time for the train to start I 
concluded to inquire for my former stage ac- 
quaintance, Mr. Charles Pierce. Across from 
the station was a large gambling-hall. I went 
in and sauntered up to a rough-looking char- 
acter who was tending the bar and, though 
I never smoke, called for a cigar and asked 
him what he would have. "Whiskey straight," 
was the reply. When he had made way 
with a generous allowance, I inquired if he 
had ever met a man named Charlie Pierce. 
[241 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

"I just reckon I have. Charlie was one of 
the best men I ever knew and a dead shot. 
Poor fellow I it was all over with him last fall. 
We gave him a first-class send-ofF; hired a 
parson that would n't take anything for the 
job, and our own saloon band played psalm 
tunes all the way to the grave." 

"How did it happen?" I asked. 

"We never knew exactly whether it was 
an old feud or whether some one wanted 
Charlie; but first we knew he and another 
chap were just blazing away, and in five min- 
utes the deed was done for both of them." 

"Who was the other chap?" I inquired. 

"He didn't live long enough to tell his 
name, but some letters showed that he was 
John — I forget his last name — from New 
Mexico. He is planted, too, pretty near to 
Charlie, but it is all right now, for our pard 
don't know it, as he was covered first." 

Note. Bill Jones is not the real name of the persofi referred 
to, and it is unneeessai'y to mention my reasons for not giving 
the correct name. 

[ 242 ] 



Seven Up and Life or Death 



1 HERE was a moment's lull in the dance- 
music and the shuffle of feet ceased for a lit- 
tle. It was not for long — so little while does 
it take to launch a fellow-being into another 
existence, so little while does it take to ad- 
just ourselves again to this. 

It was a familiar setting for days in the 
eighties, the town being of a new, short-lived, 
coarse, frontier growth, bustling by day and 
noisy and gay by night, with its dance-halls 
and gambling-saloons. Each such town usu- 
ally had a leading character ; unfortunately it 
was generally a leading bad character. Gunni- 
son, Colorado, was fortunate, or the reverse, in 
having two leading characters, one of whom 
was Edward R. Chew, who, though he toler- 
ated the low class of society which adheres to 
such strata as an inevitable product of the 
times, nevertheless stood fearlesslyfor a higher 
standard of morals than his neighbours. The 
[ 243 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

lawless element had an equally valiant cham- 
pion in a man called Yard. His life was spent 
in open defiance of law and decency, so ex- 
pert had he become in "fixing juries" and so 
firmly intrenched in the belief that when han- 
dled with good judgment boodle is more con- 
vincing than evidence. 

However, there came arevolt at last against 
such open lawlessness, and in a spirited elec- 
tion many of the citizens rallied to the sup- 
port of the better element and the latter 
elected the coroner and sheriff. Yard bore 
his political defeat with equanimity, but ma- 
nifested no inclination to change his manner 
of procedure. He knew that it would be diffi- 
cult to impanel a jury composed only of mem- 
bers who would abide by the obligations of 
their oath. One might rest on a divided jury 
on the first count; the delays incident to a 
second trial were favourable, with the scatter- 
ing of the witnesses for the prosecution as 
other mining camps sprang up whenever new 
discoveries of ore were reported. Besides, the 
[ 244 ] 



Seven Up and Life or Death 

expense to state, county and city was so large 
that when the prospects for conviction were 
not encouraging the murder cases were gen- 
erally nol-prossed. 

A prospector named Walsh was not fa- 
vourably impressed by the grace and beauty 
of his partners at Yard's "Palace of Amuse- 
ment;" he complained that the music was 
too short and quick, and the prompter's or- 
ders to "promenade all to the bar and treat 
your partners" were too frequent. He voiced 
other criticism not flattering to the manage- 
ment. Yard scowled savagely as he listened 
to the comments and decided that he would 
bear no more of them, and as the surest way 
of bringing about this more comfortable state 
of affairs, and without giving Walsh an op- 
portunity for defence, shot him, facetiously 
remarking that "it's time to cash in them 
sentiments." It was the work of but a mo- 
ment to carry Walsh into a side room, place 
a pistol in his hand, and return to take away 
the disagreeable taste by entering more bois- 
[ 245 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

terously than ever into the dance. 

Yard was indicted for murder. The sher- 
iffs panel at that term included an unusu- 
ally large number of law-abiding citizens. The 
defence had exhausted all their rights of per- 
emptory challenge, when E. R. Chew was 
called and examined as to his qualifications 
to sit on the jury that was to try Yard. Stren- 
uous efforts were made to reject him, but they 
were unavailing. The district attorney did 
his duty well. He presented convincing evi- 
dence that the murder of Walsh was brutal 
and utterly inexcusable. The painted courte- 
sans of the dance-hall who were marshalled 
for the defence, and swore unblushingly to 
manufactured testimony, retired from the 
cross-examination in confusion and disgrace. 
Judge Gary's charge was fair and just, and 
though he gave the prisoner impartial treat- 
ment, there would have been no hope for ac- 
quittal had the defence relied upon law, evi- 
dence and justice. 

The jury retired, but instead of a unani- 
[ 246 ] 



Seven Up and Life or Death 
mous vote for murder in the first degree 
there was a divided poll. The heritage of the 
Bad Lands, "jury fixing," &c., began to ma- 
nifest its influence, and settled as a blight 
over the deliberations. It was apparent that 
some of the jurymen were public servants for 
what there was in it In vain did Chew analyze 
the testimony in full ; in vain did he show that 
the witnesses agreed in all essential points. 
"Don't let us stampede from the truth for 
fear of the gang. Murder has been Yard's long 
suit these many years, and it is only fair that 
he should have his well-earned innings." The 
jury was stubborn. Days passed. It was im- 
possible to agree on a verdict, and the jury- 
men so reported, but the judge refused to dis- 
charge them. And so the weary days dragged 
on, full of thrust and counter thrust, argu- 
ments and specious reasoning. It was held 
that Yard was simply defending himself; that 
he would have been killed by that pistol found 
in the dead man's hand had he not protected 
his own life. In vain it was protested that 
[ 247 ] 



Smith of Bear City 

Walsh never carried firearms, and a final con- 
clusion seemed no nearer than when the trial 
first closed, for Chew remained firm in his pro- 
testations that he would not perjure himself. 

The stuffy room was becoming unendura- 
ble. At length one of the jurymen approached 
Chew with the suggestion that they end their 
long confinement by a game of seven up. He 
and one of their number should play, and 
whoever won the game should write the ver- 
dict, and the others should agree. It was a 
solution, and perhaps it was the only one, and 
Chew agreed to the conditions. The sheriff 
provided the table and the deck of cards, and 
the members of the jury gathered around. A 
chance passer-by would probably have seen 
nothing unusual save that a friendly game 
of cards was being played, nor would he have 
divined that anything out of the ordinary was 
at stake excepting that a little more than the 
customary eagerness seemed written on their 
faces. 

There was a man, however, whose interest 
[ 248 ] 



Seven Up and Life or Death 

in that game was vital, though he knew it 
not. Both players showed skill and excellent 
judgment. Chew won the game. He showed 
no hesitation nor embarrassment as he wrote 
in a clear hand, "Murder in the first degree." 
The jury, which for twenty-seven days had 
been confined, was discharged. 

And here the story should end, but as 
these narratives are "true stories" I am com- 
pelled to say that the game of seven up was 
not finally the undoing of Yard. In a second 
trial the principal witnesses for the prosecu- 
tion were gone, and Yard was acquitted for 
want of sufiicient evidence against him. So 
his final settling was put off for yet a while 
longer. 

The End 



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